


It's Called a Heart Boner

by RemainNameless



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, All Human, Blow Jobs, College AU, Derek hates everyone ok, Fluff, Hale family lives!, M/M, Penises, Secret Nickelback Fan!Derek, Twins, Underage Drinking, drunk!Stiles, implied but not at all actualized date rape, like people talk about dicks a lot, people suck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-27 15:09:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemainNameless/pseuds/RemainNameless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which everyone and everything ever in the history of the world is trying to ruin Derek's life before he can finish his master's, especially his evil twin sister, his weird ability to start relationships on accident, his best friend's obsession with his sex life, people with dimples, his subsequent inability to end relationships, manipulative sorority queens, and oh yeah, that stupid drunk ass freshman he keeps running into.</p><p>OR</p><p>The five times Derek saves a very drunk Stiles and the one time Stiles saves him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Called a Heart Boner

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank my dear Grace for supporting this endeavor and for putting up with my 2 am fic idea texts.

The thing most people don’t know about the Hale twins by word of mouth is that Derek _hates_ Laura. When people jokingly ask who’s the evil twin, because no one’s original, dear Lord, he’s completely serious when he tells them that it’s her. Pottermore sorted her into Slytherin for a reason. She has _ways_. Evil, evil, manipulative ways. He’s never known her to do something for a reason other than her own amusement. Case in point: Derek is technically a sister of Kappa Phi Alpha, which she had reigned over until their graduation. 

She says she’s worried about the “youngsters” now that she’s back from her year off touring Europe to work on her masters, but Derek knows that the reason she called him and talked him into going to the party is to make sure that they’re giving her her honors. She wants to know they’re doing a Screaming Orgasm toast to her portrait on the stairs before every rager. She wants to know they still love her, basically. 

He does the official Kappa Phi Alpha knock, so when one of the new pledges answers, she’s a bit surprised to be faced with, well, not exactly a sister. He’s about to mutter the official password ( _big booty bitches never say never,_ thank you, Laura) when he sees a pair of intimidating heels at the top of the stairs.

“Well, well, well, I didn’t know we were expecting entertainment tonight,” a familiar voice says as shapely legs and a skirt come into view. “Tell the other chippendales to go home, dear.” The pledge looks _way_ confused. 

“Tonight’s theme isn’t strippers? Well, I guess you should go change then, Lydia.” She smiles in a way that’s a bit too Laura, but considering that Laura had hand-picked her in her freshman year for grooming as a replacement, that shouldn’t be a surprise.

“Oh, Derek. I think I almost missed you over the summer.” She looks at the pledge. “Go. Get changed. And do something different with your hair. You don’t have the face for big curls.” The girl runs off, intimidated, while Lydia smiles and holds the door open wider for him and leads him into the too-familiar living room of the house. There’s the sound of pre-party hustle from the direction of the kitchen, and it’s only six. Laura would be proud. 

“I see you’re still inspiring fear in the hearts of the sisters,” he says weakly, sitting in a large, pink chair. 

Lydia leans against the arm of the chair opposite him, crossing her legs at the ankles. “I try.” She flips her hair over her shoulder. “Now, darling dearest Derek, why, exactly, are you here? I was under the impression from a Skype call two weeks ago that Laura’s doing very well in Portland. And she texted me her punch recipe, _that I had already memorized under her tutelage,_ half an hour ago. What’s up?”

“You know Laura,” Derek says, shrugging. “She gets separation anxiety from positions of power. She sent me to check up on you, make sure the party goes well.”

“Does she realize that the fact that she hovered over my shoulder for the entirety of last year via Skype completely undermined my power? She _graduated_. Please tell her to loosen the reins a little. There was no point in choosing me if she didn’t think I was up for the job.” Lydia sighs, then frowns and looks at the stairs. “Dear God, what is that shit they’re listening to? _WE DO NOT LISTEN TO JUSTIN BIEBER IN THIS HOUSE, LADIES!_ ” She looks back at him with a little shake of the head, like _see what I have to put up with?_  

“I’ll talk to her this once, but next time, it’s on you,” Derek says. Because he’s not going to be the carrier pidgeon for these two. No way. They’ll tear him limb from limb and Derek just wants to finish his masters in peace, thank you very much.

Lydia bats away his attempt to stick for himself. “Of course. Now, could you be a dear and get us a keg or two? Sigma was going to bring one, but they’re apparently super rapey this year, so they’ve been uninvited, and Jackson thinks kegs are beneath him. Please?” 

Derek sighs, praying for the sweet release of death to free him from the clutches of Greek Row. 

 

The problem, he realizes after taking the kegs around back, is that Lydia’s not going to let him leave. She slips a Screaming Orgasm into his hand when he’s not looking and makes him toast Laura with them. He tries to get out after that, but Lydia takes him by the arm and introduces him to all of the new pledges as their only male sister like it’s some sort of honor and not just because he shares half of his DNA with the scariest woman they know. 

And then there are more drinks and suddenly the house and back yard are full of people and he just wants to _leave_. He nearly manages to sneak out, but Jackson, Lydia’s painfully douchey Ken doll of a boyfriend corners him. 

“Here,” he says, shoving a digital camera into Derek’s hands. “Lydia wants pictures. She’s nominated you.” 

“I’m not your party photographer,” Derek says, giving the camera back. “And tell Lydia I’m not her personal assistant. Okay? Jesus—“

Lydia pushes through a group of people, yelling Jackson’s name. She finds them and stops, face pink. 

“There’s some sort of fight outside. You have to break it up.”

Jackson rolls his eyes. “Come on, that happens all the time. It’s no big deal.”

“Would I come get you if it was _no big deal_?” she asks, crossing her arms. “Now go out there and break it up. It looks serious and I don’t want anyone bleeding inside.”

Jackson looks at her, then at Derek, who points in the direction of the back. “ _Go_.” Jackson makes and angry noises and pushes his way back. 

“Come on, you too,” Lydia says, taking Derek’s arm. “I had to make him feel important, but we’re going to need a little more muscle out there. It looked nasty, and I’ve seen _girls_ fight. We fight to maim.”

Derek follows her because apparently he’s party security now, but on the way through the crowd, he sends a two-word text to Laura: _Never again._  

 

Lydia’s right, actually. It’s kind of a mess. A couple of bros he’s seen before from Jackson’s frat, Delta Omega Theta, are trying to to fight two boys and a girl. Well, one of the boys is trying to hold the other back, but Jackson’s not doing such a good job controlling his own. A couple of the brothers have clearly taken face shots, and the other boy, the one being held back, has a bloody nose. The girl seems to be more hovering on the sidelines, but that’s proven wrong when Jackson finally gets ahold of one of his guys, and the girl darts forward and kicks the guy in the balls. Derek winces involuntarily before grabbing her so she can’t inflict any more damage. 

“ _Enough_ ,” he barks at them. The girl’s kicking him, trying to free her arms so she can hit him. She lands a good blow to the shins, actually. 

“Allison!” Lydia yells from behind him. “ _What_ is going on?” The girl must be a Kappa, then.

She twists in his arms, saying, “Make Dwayne Johnson put me down and I’ll tell you!” Derek looks over his shoulder at Lydia, who gives him a nod. He lets Allison go, wincing when she elbows him just below the ribs. 

Everyone who needs to be restrained seems to be, but it’s quiet, too quiet. 

“ _Matt_ ,” Allison says sharply, pointing at one of the brothers, “was acting like a total creep and I was _not_ okay with it, _which I made very clear_ , and Scott—“ she points to the other boy being held back “—tried to get him to lay off, and all of _this_ happened.” 

Lydia looks at the brothers. “Alright. Who fought on his side?” Allison points a couple of them out. “None of you are allowed on these premises again. I’ll get your photos from Jackson and the sisters will know to never let you in. Now get out of my party. _Now_. Or I’ll sic Derek on you.” Derek rolls his eyes because no, actually, he’s not her guard dog. (But he might make the exception in this case.) 

Jackson herds the offenders a bit more roughly than is strictly necessary, and then it’s dead silent. The other boy releases Skip, or whatever his name is, and everyone’s just standing there awkwardly. 

“Who wants to do a keg stand?” Lydia yells and suddenly hands are up and everything’s moving again. 

Derek slinks off inside, checks his phone. Laura hasn’t responded, but she’s read his text, so she’s choosing to ignore him. Because she’s evil like that. He finds the bathroom, walks in on a blowjob, kicks both parties out, and locks the door behind him. Calls her.

“ _You better be drunk, little bro_ ,” is her way of answering.

“Fuck you, I’m only eleven minutes younger, and no, I’m not drunk because I’m not here to _party_ , Laura. I did what you asked, and now they won’t let me leave.”

“ _Well, that would be because I told Lydia to make sure you have a good time tonight. You’re too much of a shut in, Tweedledumb. You need to get out more. Get laid. Get drunk. Do_ something _.”_

“FYI, you’re the worst sister ever,” he says and hangs up before she can reply.

 

He exits the bathroom with stealth. If Lydia’s been tasked with keeping him here, then so have the other sisters. He has to avoid them at all costs. All he needs to do is get down the stairs, and the door’s right there. Only a good half of the party will be able to see him once he’s on the stairs. And he can’t go out a window in the back because there are people out there, too. Shit. Fucking Laura. He was _planning_ on watching Fringe on Netflix tonight but _no_. 

Fuck that, he’s calling Mom in the morning and telling her that Laura still makes him wrap her Christmas presents.

Or not. Because Mom will tell him he needs to stand up to her, like she has since they were little and Laura made him take the fall for doing shit like eating all the cookie dough raw and playing pranks on Peter’s one and only long-term girlfriend until she left because Laura thinks their life is like Parent Trap. 

She’s evil. Pure, unadulterated evil. 

One of the sisters, Shantal, catches him as he’s sneaking down the stairs. Of course. She gives him a drink, which he accepts then leaves on the kitchen counter as he heads out back. He’s thinking that if he can edge over to the smokers, he might be able to pretend to be one of them until he’s close enough to the back gate to make a run for it.

So he keeps an eye out for red curls and makes small, stealthy movements towards the side of the house. The patio’s big so it’s slow going, but he’s nearly invisible he’s so stealthy, he’s almost—

“Where’re y’goin?” a voice slurs, a little too loud. Derek looks down at the kid sitting against the side of the house. Drunk off his ass and familiar? Oh, he’s the other kid who was involved in the fight. A friend of Skip? Is that right? Something like that. 

Derek takes a cautious step over the kid, hoping he can maybe just slip by…

“You’re, like, _really_ big. Why are you so _tall_? Are you a lumberjack? Cause tha’s pretty cool. I don’t know any real life lumberjacks, I just know they wear girls’ clothes and go to bars. D’you do that? Y’don’t really _look_ like y’do, but looks can be disbelieving. Deceived. Deceiving. Y’know?” Derek just stares at the kid because who talks that much when they’re drunk. _Jesus_. And what the hell is he on about? He does _not_ have time for this. 

Derek remembers to move about the time the kid remembers that he apparently wants to talk more. 

“Hey, d’you wanna help me up? I tried, but…well, I didn’t go too far. I kind of rolled a little. Like a li’l piggie in a blanket.” Derek looks down at him, sighs, and offers him a hand because he has a heart, alright, to make up for the fact that Laura has this little black crater in her chest. The kid grabs it—his hands are big and warm, that’s weird—and Derek hauls him up to his feet. 

“There. Don’t walk around too much,” he says, and starts trying to figure out how he’s going to get around this one couple dry humping against the wall. 

“Wait!” the kid says. Derek claps a hand over his mouth before he can think.

He shakes his head, making very direct eye contact that will seep into his drunken brain. “Don’t talk so loud. You’re going to draw attention.” He pulls his hand away, trying to convince himself that no, the kid did not lick his hand, and no, he does not have drunk spit on it. (He wipes it on his jeans anyway.)

“Hey, y’know Lydia, right? She’s _beautiful_ , isn’t she?”

Oh Lord. Derek does not deserve this. He really doesn’t. He already has Laura. The Fates have shit all over him enough. 

“‘Cause I wanted to know, d’you think she and Ja—Jackson are like a, y’know, steady thing?”

“I don’t know,” Derek says, rolling his eyes, “I mean, they’ve been dating since high school, but anything’s possible.” The kid lights up and _great_ , he doesn’t get sarcasm this drunk. 

“Good! ‘Cause I’m a _nice guy_ , I really am, and I’ll do anything for her and— hey, that’s Jackson, isn’it? I’mma go talk to him ‘cause she deserves _better_ than him.” Derek’s so distracted with trying to map out an escape route that he doesn’t realize the kid is not in front of him anymore. He’s walking up to Jackson, who looks a little bit drunk. And he’s an angry drunk. Shit. This kid is going to kid a serious beat down if he says anything to him about Lydia right now. Great.

He takes a moment to decide if he’s going to be a good person and stop it from happening, or use the drama as a cover to escape. His inner Laura says _escape_ , so he chases after the kid across the patio—damn, he’s fast—and grabs him by the scruff of his neck. He looks at Derek with something like recognition, and then frowns, opening and closing his mouth kind of weirdly. After a second, he shakes his head, twists away from Derek and gets up to Jackson. That’s when Derek realizes what he’d been doing with his mouth. 

He’s going to puke. 

Worse. 

He’s going to puke on _Jackson_. Drunk-angry Jackson. _Fuck._

Derek manages to grab the kid and forcefully redirect him to a potted plant, where he drools a little and then blows chunks all over the thing. That plant’s a goner, that’s for sure. 

The kid tries to grab the plant, a little tree, for support, but that doesn’t really work. Derek catches him around the waist and holds him up while he keeps going. 

He catches Jackson’s eye and gives him a little wave, sort of an apology for something that didn’t happen, and Jackson gives him a pitying look. Derek turns his attention back to the kid because he’s in between rounds of puking, drooling and talking.

“Y’know, I’d be a r’lly good boyfriend. Would. Don’t have money an’ I know ‘m not much to look at, but I’d try. I r’lly would. I’d do s’much for her. Just love ‘er. Think ‘bout ‘er all the—“ he pukes again. Derek pats his back tentatively. He’s done this for Laura before, and at least this time, he doesn’t have to worry about holding any hair back. 

“Derek! There you are! I thought you’d left— Oh. Who’s this?” Derek turns to Lydia. She’s wobbling a little on her heels.

“He’s friends with the two involved in the fight earlier. The girl and—“

“Allison? Oh, she left a while ago. With _Scott_.” She wrinkles her nose. 

 _Great. Just great_. 

Or maybe it actually _is_.

“Wow, you know, he really needs someone to take him home, and if his friends have left, well, I guess someone else should do it. I’ve got his puke on my shoes, so it might as well be me. I mean, he’s really not well.”

“I can see that,” she says, shifting on her heels. “Yeah, that’s a really good idea, you should take him home. Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, mister.” She points at him in a way that could have been threatening if she doesn’t hiccup in the middle of her death stare. But that’s okay. Because this kid is his ticket _out_. 

“I’ll tell Laura it was a great party,” he says. Thankfully, she spots Jackson and sort of shuffle-hops over to him before she can say anything more. 

Of course, now he actually has to get this kid home. 

He’s sagged in Derek’s grip, spitting a little. After a moment, he turns and looks at Derek and says, “I threw up.” 

“Yeah. Yeah you did. You done?” 

The kid nods slowly. “I…think so. Think my tummy’s empty.” 

“Good. You feel like you can move?” He nods. “Alright. I’m parked out back. Come on. Let’s go.” Derek slings one of the kid’s arms around his shoulders and keeps one of his own around the kid’s waist. It’s kind of slow going, but he manages a very fake smile and wave at Lydia on his way out the back gate. 

“I’m so sorry,” the kid says, shaking his head. 

“Don’t worry about it.”

It takes a little while to get to his car, and then he has to help the kid get in, buckle his seatbelt and everything. The whole time, the kid apologizes. It makes him feel kind of guilty because he’s totally using the kid right now, and he’d rather deal with some pukey idiot than a few more hours of Lydia’s party. 

When he gets around to the driver’s side, it looks like the kid has stopped drooling, even if his head is lolling back against the head rest in a way that looks like he might pass out soon. Great. He’s still mumbling _sorry_ s.

“Hey. You. Kid.” He shakes the kid’s shoulder. “Where do you live?” 

The kid looks at him like he’s seeing him for the first time. “You takin me home?” Derek nods. “I’m sorry. I should warn you,” he says, suddenly very serious, “I’ve never done this before so I may not be very good. I’m so sorry. I wish I was because you’re _really hot_ and I’m sorry.”

Well. Somewhere up there, Jesus has just shat in a bucket and poured it all over Derek’s life. And not in a good way.

“I’m not taking you home to sleep with you, _good Lord_. I’m taking you home so you can sleep and wake up to a terrible hangover.” 

“Oh. Kay.” He rattles off the name of one of the dorms. One of the freshmen dorms. Of course. Only freshmen get this wasted and don’t make sure they have people to take care of them. Because freshmen are idiots. 

The kid doesn’t puke at all the whole way there. Thank god because there’s no way the kid could afford the detailing his car would need after that, but he has that drunk guilt that Derek hates. It’s like it permeates into the upholstery.

Derek almost leaves him at the entrance to the building, but he realizes, when the kid has _way_ too much trouble with the car door handle, that there’s no way he’ll make it by himself. So Derek’s going to be the good samaritan who hauls his drunk ass all the way to his room. Mostly because Laura would never. 

“What floor?” he asks when they’re in the elevator. The kid has to think about it, then presses the button for the sixth floor. 

When they get out, it takes him a moment to remember which way his room is, and then Derek has to get his keys out of his pocket because the kid doesn’t know how to use his hands apparently. But he gets the kid inside. The lights are out and his roommate seems to be asleep, but he stirs a little when Derek guides the kid to his bed. Helps him with his shoes. 

“You’re really nice,” the kid says when he pulls the second shoe off and sets it down. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to do this. You’re so nice. Thank you for not leaving me. I’m sorry. I think you might be my hero.”

“No, I’m not. Now lay down. Go to sleep. Your mouth is going to taste like Satan’s asshole in the morning. Have fun.” 

 

He makes it home at last and even though it’s late, he watches a couple episodes of Fringe as a _fuck you_ to Laura.

And for the next week, he has “You’re Beautiful” stuck in his head even though he doesn’t know why. Just when he thinks he’s free, he starts singing it in the shower on accident.

 

It’s a couple weeks later that Laura invites him to the party at Danny’s. Well, technically, Jackson invites him, which means it’s really Lydia, which means it’s undoubtedly Laura’s doing. So he’s planning on not going, not just out of spite, but because he’s in a really good place with his thesis, getting a couple of pages out. And then he has a hot threeway planned with his Netflix and Digiorno. So no, no parties in his immediate future, none at all.

And then someone rings his doorbell. 

He really should not have underestimated Lydia. That’s a bad path to go down and he knows better, goddammit.

“What are you _wearing_?” Erica asks when he opens the door, face wrinkled in disgust as she pushes past him inside. “Come on, let’s get you dressed. You are _not_ going out in that. Actually, you should probably burn everything you’re wearing right now.”

“They’re university sweatpants. _Everyone_ has them—“

“No. _People who don’t get laid_ have them. And I’m going to get you some tonight, so come on.”

Of _course_ it’s not Lydia. That would be too easy. No, it has to be his best friend. Because apparently he’s not allowed to casually mention a party he’s not going to. 

“Wear these,” Erica says, holding up a pair of jeans. 

Derek shakes his head. “No way, I can barely walk in those.”

“Too fucking bad, sweetcheeks. I’ve been tasked with getting your dick wet, and this is how it’s going to happen. If these are the pants I’m thinking of, you’ll be able to bounce a quarter off that ass. Now put them on. I have to find you a shirt that doesn’t have half a takeout menu spilled on it.” He takes the pants without thinking, standing there, still a little bit in shock.

“How’s Sociology?” is the only thing he can come up with. 

“It’s fine. When I changed my major, I ended up needing too many credits to graduate last year, so I’m taking, like, three classes for that and finishing that Philosophy minor I nearly have. Now stop distracting me. I’m trying to find a shirt that will make you look suitably fuckable, and seriously, Derek? Do some laundry once a semester. This is sad.” 

“Why are you doing this? I thought you were my friend,” he says as he shucks off his sweatpants. 

Erica glances over her shoulder at him and makes a face. “Oh honey, no, those underwear are a no-go. I don’t ever want to see you in underwear with holes again unless it’s lacy and I’m walking in on hot kinky sex.” 

“I hate you. Stop objectifying me. I am a _person_ with _feelings_.” She makes a kissy face at him, rolls her eyes.

Erica _should_ be on his side. He’d met her first, back when she was an awkward freshman with frizzy hair, because they’d been in the same major and he’d been looking for someone to take under his wing. Also, he only knew people through Laura, so he needed his own friends _badly_. What happened was he and Erica ended up having a couple of weirdly tense one-on-one study sessions that culminated in an accidental date and also accidental and very awkward sex that they’d both sworn to never have again. They’d been good friends after that, even after Erica had switched majors. 

But apparently friendship means nothing because he _knows_ Laura’s agenda for him when he hears it. 

“You know, she’s not as bad as you always complain about.” There it is: the confession of fraternizing with the enemy; he glares. “Relax. We’ve had coffee together a few times, and she texts me every week or so. It’s not that bad. She’s just looking after you. It could be worse. Some siblings try to cockblock you.”

Derek pulls on a pair of fresh-from-the-package Hanes, says, “Easy for you to say. You’re an only child.”

“Come on. When was the last time you had sex with someone other than your right hand?”

“Why,” he says as he shimmies into the jeans, “would I cheat on someone I love?” 

Erica rolls her eyes and throws a shirt at him.

He holds it up. “Really? This is the kind of thing I usually wear.”

“Well, I almost went with that mesh top I snuck into your closet after that 90’s Night last yeat, but I was thinking, this way you could play _both_ sides of the field. More opportunities. Even though I think it’s better for your personal growth to check out the gentlemen, I won’t cockblock you with the ladies. You could even try dating again. Maybe even dating a man.” She winks because she’s _evil_ , he’s always known it. Of _course_ she’d be on Laura’s side, trying to get him to be a social being. He should tried harder to keep them apart. And he shouldn’t have told her last semester that he was considering he might be a little higher on the Kinsey scale than he initially thought. That was clearly a terrible idea because she’s been running with it ever since.

“You know that’s purely hypothetical anyway,” he tells her as he pulls the shirt over his head. “And I don’t have any interest in getting laid tonight anyway. I’m not in the mood.”

“Yeah?” One of her eyebrows is raised. “Really? You’re trying to actually make the case that you’re not in the mood for sex? Nearly _everyone_ ’s in the mood for sex. You’re not asexual, Derek. I think we can safely say we’ve established that. And there’s no way that someone who’d been living the monk life for as long as you have isn’t horny as fuck. So just admit it: you want some action. And I’m trying to help you with that.”

Derek shrugs, sitting on his bed. “I don’t know. I mean, yeah, sex is great. It’s the people I don’t like. I hate having to _talk_ to people and pretend to like them as a person, so I don’t. It’s a waste of time.” Erica sits next to him, takes his hand. Squeezes it.

“I know. It’s hard. But people aren’t all bad. I know it’s stressful, but it can be rewarding. Trust me.” She smiles, pats his knee. “Besides, what’s the rule with gay guys? Five seconds of eye contact or more and you want the D? You don’t even have to talk if you don’t want to.”

“Ha ha. You’re hilarious. Really.” 

Alright, his porn isn’t strictly tits and vag, but he’s satisfied enough about not taking the extra step in the man-wise direction. Even though Erica made him make out with her boyfriend while he was drunk once. Luckily, Boyd was very understanding, but he’s just not really feeling like exploring that part of himself in the present. And she knows that. They’ve talked about it. How maybe when he’s out of school, he’ll try, but not yet. 

And she can’t make him hook up with someone either. He doesn’t need it. He’s fine.

“Now go put some product in that hair. It looks way too combed.” 

 

They make it to the party after a while. It’s at Danny’s, who Derek has never technically interacted with, but they operate in the same circles. Boyd and Isaac are both there already, friends with Danny through lacrosse. Isaac looks kind of pissed at him actually, probably because Derek blew him off on accident last week. Derek offers a half-smile in apology and finds him a drink to make up for it.

He’s never been to Danny’s apartment, but it’s set up in a way that makes some sense and he finds the kitchen easily. There’s a cooler of beer, so he grabs a couple and does his best to not make eye contact with anyone he doesn’t know.

Lydia finds him eventually, beaming as she approaches. 

“I’m so glad you made it, Derek. It’s good to get out a little.” She and Erica make eye contact and he _does not_ miss that, no sir. They are plotting against him. All of them. They’re probably sending Laura status reports. Evil. Pure evil.

“Oh, Derek,” Jackson says coolly, coming up behind Lydia with a mixed drink. “You’re here. Hey, have you met Danny?” Wow. And that did not sound forced at all. Way to go, Jackson. What, did Lydia have to withhold sex to get you to do that? And seriously, he watches How I Met Your Mother. That is _such_ a line.

The guy with nice dimples who joins them with a little wave must be Danny. And okay, he seems like he’s probably nice, but Derek also knows that Danny’s gay (because everyone knows that, for some reason, along with the fact that he’s the nicest person ever) and it’s not his fault that Lydia somehow must know that he has a passing interest in men, which means _Laura_ probably knows, which can only lead to bad things.

But Danny wants to shake his hand, so Derek does. Because that’s polite. Even if he wants to murder everyone. 

 

An hour later, he’s sitting on the couch and Danny’s telling him about his life. 

It’s a thing that happens to him sometimes, people opening up to him. He doesn’t talk much around people he doesn’t know, so they assume he’s quiet and they fill the conversational void. And then afterward, they tell him that no wonder he’s doing Psychology, he’s such a good therapist, it’s so easy open up to him. Usually, he doesn’t correct them by telling them that his focus is actually _criminal_ psychology and in all likelihood, he won’t have to have people on his couch _ever_. He’s not really into that. At all.

But he does let people talk to him if they want to, so Danny keeps right on going. When Derek glances around to find Erica, she gives him a fairly subtle thumbs-up. 

“Do you want to go outside?” Danny says suddenly, and Derek, without thinking, agrees. 

It’s nice out, not too hot a night, and they’re alone on the balcony, and Danny talk. Sometimes he pauses and Derek, who is, in fact, listening, if only by habit, will ask a question, and Danny will keep right on going. 

 

It goes like this for hours. Until, finally, Derek really needs to take a leak to the point where he can’t keep sitting any longer, and he excuses himself. Danny gives him good directions to the bathroom, something he appreciates, and Derek heads inside. The party’s in full swing, people dancing and talking and a drinking game, but he’s more focused on the needs of his bladder than his surroundings, and he moves quickly. And he pees. It feels heavenly. Like beating Laura at Monopoly even though she cheats. And Danny has good hand soap, so that’s a plus. 

He’s drying off his hands when someone tries the door. He opens it and in the hallway, there’s two guys, one of them eager, the other, familiar. Huh. He lifts his head and _oh_. That frosh dabber from Lydia’s. He looks pretty drunk now, actually. Like, really drunk. 

“Mind letting us in there?” the other guy asks, and Derek realizes that he’s standing in the doorway. The kid doesn’t look like he’s pukey—and Derek knows way too well what he looks like pukey for someone who doesn’t actually know his name—so why are they going to the bathroom? The guy isn’t his friend from that night, but people have other friends usually, so whatever. But there’s something about the way the guy seems pretty eager and handsy and the drunk kid seems…floppy. Derek is getting a really weird vibe. 

“What, exactly, are you planning on doing in there?” Derek asks, crossing his arms because he _knows_ that’s intimidating and he’ll use it, godammit. 

The guy shrugs too many times and says, “Oh, you know, my boyfriend just wanted to get away from the party for a little while.”

“Yeah?” Derek asks, then looks at the other kid. “Hey, you. What’s your boyfriend’s name?” Drunk kid looks up and suddenly recognizes him, grinning.

“You…you’re the nice guy! I _like_ you.” He kind of stumbles, grabbing onto the guy next to him, and frowns. “I don’t feel very good. I wanna lay down. Hey!” He looks around. “We’re _inside_. When did that happen? Huh.” That’s really all Derek needs to hear. 

“Alright,” he says, looking at the other guy. “I don’t know exactly what you were planning on doing with him, but he doesn’t even know where he is, so he’s way too drunk to agree to suck your dick or whatever, so get the fuck out. Consent is a real thing, look it up in the dictionary, and don’t get rape happy at parties or I will _find_ you and go Liam Neeson on your ass.” The guy looks _terrified_ and he _bolts_. Which has the unfortunate side effect of dropping drunk kid on his ass like a hot potato. Derek grabs him by the armpits and pulls him to his feet again.

“What the _hell_ —“ Derek looks down the hallway at the voice and sees a very confused Danny.

“I don’t know who the hell that guy was, but I’m pretty sure he wasn’t this kid’s boyfriend.” 

The kid looks around, sees Derek and says, “ _I know you_! You’re my hero. Are you going to save me again? Am I swooning? I can’t tell.” Derek rolls his eyes, looks at Danny. Shrugs.

“Do you know him?” he asks. “Someone needs to take him home.”

“I— Yeah, that’s Stiles. That means…” Danny looks behind him and yells, “ _Scott!_ ” 

Derek hears a _yeah_ from the other room, and then the kid from the fight at Lydia’s is rushing up to him, taking the kid, _Stiles_ , off of his hands. 

“Sorry about that, man,” Scott says. “Thanks for, you know, saving his ass.”

“Tell him to pay some fucking attention to AlcoholEdu because this is the second time I’ve seen him white girl wasted. It’s what, September? Tell him to learn some self control. Alcohol poisoning isn’t a joke.” Derek huffs a little because there’s no reason to be _too_ nice, and maybe putting the fear of God into this kid will stop him from getting this drunk again.

“Yeah, sorry,” Scott says, but he seems kind of pissed off, and he glares a little as he helps _Stiles_ away. 

Really, though. _Stiles_. He’s not dressed well enough to have that nickname, that’s for sure. 

 

Danny hands him a beer later and says, “Well, that was some drama, wasn’t it?”

“I should go,” Derek tells him. He’s tired, and yeah, he feels guilty for leaving or whatever, but he just feels _exhausted_. 

“Oh. I mean sure. It’s late. I understand. You’re welcome here any time, you know. I’ll make sure Jackson passes on an invite if I have people over again. It was nice meeting you.” Danny smiles and it’s like that fucking British boy band song because of those dimples, but Derek just shakes his hand and does his best to smile. And he’s gone. 

 

Derek’s working out when he gets the text.

_Hey got your number from Jackson hope that’s okay :) -Danny_

He hops off the treadmill to compose a reply because it’s _unexpected_ and he’s not really sure what to do actually. So he texts Erica. Her reply is almost immediate. 

_OH MY GOD YOU SHOULD ASK HIM OUT. Also Isaac’s here and he says to tell you that DANNY IS A PRECIOUS BEING AND ALSO HIS ABS ARE NICE AND YOU ARE OBLIGATED AS MY FRIEND TO TAP THAT IF YOU HAVE THE CHANCE._

Well then. That’s a little forward. Derek isn’t sure about how to do that, so he just texts something simple: _It’s fine. What’s up?_

He makes the mistake of telling Erica about that and she calls him.

“Fine. _Fine_? _Come on, Derek, fine is such a neutral word. How is he going to know that you want the D if you use words like ‘fine’? Huh?”_

“Why do you assume I—“ he looks around to make sure no one’s listening “—that I want the D? It’s a bro thing.”

“ _A bro thing? You talked to him for, like, four hours. Alone. That’s not a bro thing.”_

Derek sighs, frowns. “Okay, so what do I do? I don’t know—“ there’s a buzz “—Wait, he’s just texted me.”

“ _WHAT DOES IT SAY?”_

He looks. Stops. Well.

_Do you wanna do coffee sometime?_

That’s…well. Maybe a little less of a bro thing that he’d thought. 

“ _DEREK, YOU FUCKER, TELL ME WHAT THE TEXT SAYS!_ ” In the background, he hears Isaac saying roughly the same thing.

“He wants to ‘do coffee’,” Derek says. “What do I say? Is this a date? Am I agreeing to a date?”

“ _YES, you’re agreeing to a date because you totally should. This is really great! If you two start dating, it’ll be_ beautiful _. And then you can come on double dates with me and Boyd and it won’t be weird like when you and Isaac come because you’ll actually be dating. This is so great. I’m so happy for you. I have to go_. _Isaac and I need to plan out your lives together_.”

“If you tell Laura, I swear to God, I will _end_ you, Erica—“ and she hangs up. Probably to go tell Laura. Because she clearly has no sense of loyalty. Traitor. She’s getting defriended on Facebook. Again.

He glares at his phone as he sends Danny a _sure_.

 

Coffee happens. And it’s awkward. Because Derek isn’t sure what protocol is for a coffee date with a man. If it’s the same or not.

They’re in a Starbucks, in a booth, and there’s coffee between them, and it’s just weird.

“You don’t do this much, do you?” Danny asks after a minute.

Derek tests his mug—too hot—and simply says, “No.” 

“Is it the date thing or the dude thing?”

“Both. Mostly…both. I don’t usually meet people I don’t already know. Or people my sister knows. That’s usually the one that gets me.” He shrugs, looking at his coffee.

“I’ve never met Laura, but I’ve heard she’s a real firecracker.”

Derek nods. “Firecracker. Ballbuster. Future dictator. Bride of Satan. She goes by many epithets.” Danny laughs, and it’s a nice sound. 

“Not close?”

“Genetically? As closes as a we could possibly be,” he says, “But she’s actively trying to control and ruin my life, so I wouldn’t call us the closest of siblings, no.” 

“Really?” Danny says, laughing again. “She can’t be that bad, can she?”

Derek frowns, nodding. “In high school, she paid or blackmailed every date I had to a school dance. There were seven. When we came here, she escalated. She’s turned all of my friends and makes them send her reports on me. I don’t know if the legal term is _stalking_ , per se, but it’s stalking, and it’s invasive.”

“Maybe she just cares a lot about you? I dunno. It would drive me crazy, though.” Oh, and Danny smiles. And he isn’t immediately on Laura’s side. That’s a good sign. 

 

They’re there for almost an hour. Derek doesn’t really notice the time go by.

 

Not long after their first date, Danny invites him to come over to Jackson’s for a “small gathering of friends. With booze.” It doesn’t sound too bad, and he’ll know at least four people there, including himself, so maybe it won’t be so bad. There won’t be a lot of people, so it’ll just be a nice hangout. And yes, he’s painfully aware that all of his “friends” are undergrads and that of the people he knows, only Danny, Erica, and Boyd are old enough to buy alcohol. So that’s a little depressing. But he tries not to think about it too much. 

Jackson’s, because he’s been more times than he’d like, is actually the lounge of his frat’s house. The brothers, no doubt, have been told to be elsewhere or upstairs, because Jackson’s enough of an asshole to use his authority to have a good night. 

It’s just Jackson and Danny when he gets there. Danny smiles brightly and hugs him, which is nice. He makes room for Derek to sit next to him. It’s polite. Pleasant. Whatever. 

Lydia comes in without knocking, Allison in tow. She greets Jackson and Danny and gives Derek a little guilty wave.

“I’m sorry I kicked you,” she says, sitting down next to him.

He shrugs. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you kick that guy some more. Don’t worry about it. You’re one of Lydia’s girls?”

Lydia flicks him on the nose. “For God’s sake, Derek, don’t make it sound like I run a brothel. You’re a sister, too, or have you forgotten?” Derek tries very hard to be invisible, which doesn’t actually work, as it turns out. 

“You’re a Kappa?” Danny asks with a little smile.

“ _Laura_ ,” he grits out. 

Allison hides a laugh and Lydia flicks her hair over her shoulder, “Obviously, he was the lesser sperm.”

Danny makes a pointed look at his arms and chest. “Yeah. _Obviously_.” 

Lydia concedes that with a little quirk of her eyebrows while Derek tries to be very, very small. He hadn’t been expecting Danny to compliment him and it’s a little off-putting. Not necessarily in a bad way, but it means an adjustment.

“Okay, when is your abandoned puppy of a boyfriend getting here?” Lydia asks Allison as she takes a seat next to Jackson.

“McCall is coming? Jesus.”

Lydia gives him a look. “I told you this yesterday. Don’t pretend it’s news just because you don’t like him.”

“He didn’t pledge. For _anything_.” Jackson has always been one of those Greek snobs, something Derek’s laughed at behind closed doors. Because Jackson doesn’t know how to grow up. It’s almost tragic.

“Yeah, and he’s still better than you were at lacrosse your freshman year, so get over it,” Danny says. “I like Scott. So cool it. This thing between you is pretty high school, dude.” 

“Well, at least it’s just him. Stilinski is more than I can handle tonight.”

There’s an awkward pause where Derek realizes that he doesn’t actually know their peer group and everyone else seems to be acting weird about something else.

“I extended the invite to him,” Allison says at last.

Jackson makes a loud noise of protest.

“And _I_ supported that decision,” Lydia says. “Allison pleaded that he would be stuck in his room tonight with _Greenberg_. Even you wouldn’t wish Greenberg on anyone, Jackson, and he has to sleep next to him every night. Consider it a charity.”

Jackson shrugs reluctantly.

“Look, Stiles isn’t _that_ bad,” Danny says. “Hey, Derek knows him!” It takes a second for Derek to realize that yes, in fact, he does know someone by the stupid ass name of Stiles, if only because he makes stupid ass decisions. 

Everyone’s looking at him, of course.

“Yeah, I feel like I saw you with him that night at our house,” Lydia says. 

Danny nods, says, “And he pulled some creeper off him at my place the other week. You’re friends, right?”

Derek makes a noncommittal noise, trying to come up with an explanation when Allison saves him.

“You’re friends with Stiles?” she asks. “Thank God, I was worried he only had Scott, and I’ve been feeling guilty because he mostly spends time with me now—“

“I’m not friends with him,” Derek corrects, because he’s really _not_. “He drinks too much is all, and I ended up being there.”

“Well, aren’t you a knight in shining armor!” Danny says, bumping shoulders with him. Those dimples a seriously a weapon of mass destruction. 

“I really wouldn’t say that, I—“

There’s a loud series of knocks at the door.

“Come in, assholes!” Jackson yells. Lydia gives him a look, and he shrugs, _what?_  

The door opens and the two boys show themselves, Scott zeroing in on Allison like a fucking drone or something, and Stiles kind of stands there. Waves. Sees Derek. Looks a little confused, like he’s trying to remember where he knows him from, and then he lights on it. 

“Holy shit. You are the Nice Dude. With the…” he makes a gesture that’s probably supposed to imply _biceps_ , going by the weird ape thing he’s doing. He looks like an idiot, honestly. His eyes are too wide. Derek doesn’t know what that has to do with anything, but it does. Something about wide, dark eyes is suspicious of stupidity or something. And his shadowy pink gash of a mouth. Jesus. What’s up with that? Who has a mouth like that? All fallen open, like he wants someone to put something in it. And Derek is thinking he knows just what that something might be. 

“Yeah, he is,” Danny says, and Derek realizes that he’s sat there without confirming or denying for too long. Also, he might be staring. And getting a little uncomfortable in the pants area.

Stiles sits down and Derek _doesn’t_ watch him. He settles further into the couch and doesn’t think about anything at all.

Danny slaps his thigh. “I’m going to get drinks,” he says. “Wine? Are we feeling classy tonight? Or should I get the case of Miller Lite?” 

“Wine!” Lydia decides, nodding like _it is_ _law_. Probably because Miller Lite is like carbonated, watered-down piss, and the only other alcohol Jackson buys because he’s _that kind of guy_. 

“Does someone wanna help me?” Danny asks. Derek waits for someone to volunteer before he realizes that _he_ ’s supposed to, and he gets up, follows to the kitchen. Danny pulls out glasses, hands them over. He doesn’t look at Derek, so he wonders if he’s done something wrong. If he’d stared too long or whatever. He touches Danny’s shoulder as he’s getting the wine, and Danny stops, looks at him. Derek offers a little smile. That’s all it takes, apparently. Danny smiles, stands, wraps a warm hand around Derek’s arm, and kisses him suddenly and quickly. It’s a surprise more than anything, and Derek’s not quite sure how to react. But Danny smiles a secret sort of smile and reaches down for the wine again. 

Derek thinks he should text Erica about that or something, but he’s still sort of surprised. Even though it shouldn’t be a surprise. They’re seeing each other, after all. But a man has kissed him because he _wanted_ to, because they are loosely a _couple_ , and it’s taking a little while to process. 

He sets the wine glasses on the coffee table and sits back in his seat while Danny pours. Lydia takes the first glass with a little smile. 

Derek feels like he’s somewhere he doesn’t belong. As he always does with them. 

Conversation begins to bubble around him, but he stays out of it. It doesn’t feel right to get in. He knows them, because of Laura, honestly, but they’re not really his friends. Or at least not friends he’s chosen for himself. That’s the thing about Erica and Isaac and Boyd: they’re a weird group with their share of problems, but he’d chosen them for himself. That means something. That’s _important_ to him. 

He’s not drinking that much because he usually doesn’t, and he’s probably taking it slower than anyone else. He’s not paying much attention, but he notices Stiles get up a few times to refill his glass, Danny getting up to go get a couple more bottles. None of them have really figured out how to drink without the intent of getting drunk yet. Some are further from that skill than others. ( _Stiles_.)

What happens is Stiles starts refilling Lydia’s glass whenever she tries to do it herself. She seems to be ignoring it, but Jackson notices. He glares at first, and then he starts trying to beat Stiles to it. Everyone’s talking about their families or some shit like that, so no one really notices until Stiles and Jackson start fighting over a bottle of wine. It’s pretty passive, to be honest, mostly just some really intense eye contact, but they’re both standing over the coffee table, and everyone notices and stops talking. It’s awkward as hell because _they_ haven’t realized that everyone’s watching them, so Derek gets up, takes the bottle from between them, and refills his own glass. Both boys—they can’t really be called men, considering—sit down slowly, giving each other evil eyes. 

Idiots. 

The bottle, the last on the table, is nearly empty, so Derek tops off Danny’s glass and heads in the direction of the kitchen. But then he thinks, stops, and gives Stiles a look. Points at him, then the kitchen. It takes a second for him to get it.

“Oh, uh, I should go help. Kitchen. Going,” he says, flailing more than is strictly necessary as he gets up from his seat on an ottoman. Derek disappears into the kitchen, rolling his eyes. _Idiot_. 

Stiles looks kind of confused, rubbing the back of his head. 

“So, what’s up? There’s nothing you could possibly need help with that Danny couldn’t do better than me, so….”

Derek shakes his head, whispers, “I don’t need your help, idiot, I’m trying to save you from getting punched in the face. Which is what’s going to happen if you keep provoking Jackson. So _stop_. I know Lydia’s pretty, but there’s a ton of pretty girls out there who don’t have hot-head boyfriends. So back off. And stop drinking. That’s making it worse.”

Stiles kind of gapes. Opens and closes his mouth a few times. Then frowns with his eyebrows.

“Hey, look, Lydia’s not just pretty, she’s a genius and talented and—“

“For the love of _God_ ,” Derek says a little louder than he means to, “it doesn’t matter if her vagina’s made of _diamonds_. You need to back off. I know her and girls like her. You’re not her type. If you have any sense of self-preservation at all, stop trying.” 

Stiles has the idiocy to look _offended_ now. “Well, who’s to say I’m not her type? I could be!”

Derek sighs. He’s really done nothing to deserve this. The kid needs to shut the fuck up and listen to him because Derek knows what he’s talking about. He’s had to convince way too many halfway decent guys that Laura’s just not interested over the years. 

“Alright, you see Jackson in there? For all his tenth grade alpha male posturing, he’s just looking for someone to tell him what to do. That’s the kind of guy Lydia’s after. He may act like he doesn’t _want_ her to manipulate him, but he does. He’s easy, good-looking, popular, and rich, but more importantly, he’s _malleable_. You don’t stand a chance. You like her too much and you _want_ her. You don’t _need_ her. She’ll never pick you over him.”

“But.” Stiles pauses, upset, wringing his hands. “I would do more for her. I’d be more supportive and I respect her intelligence. I would love her unconditionally.” 

Derek shrugs. “She doesn’t want that,” he says, thinking of Laura. “She can’t predict or control it. She’s not ready for it. Unscripted affection makes her uncomfortable. You’re wasting your time. It’s not worth losing sleep over. She’s going to keep pretending you don’t exist until you lay off, so go out there, stop drinking, and don’t make an ass of yourself. Now go. _Go_.” He points, and Stiles retreats. Derek opens and brings out another couple bottles of wine, and when he sits down, Danny pulls out his phone and sends a text. A moment later, Derek’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He waits a moment before looking at it.

_What was that about?_

After sipping at his wine to look casual, he sends back _Nothing. Saving him from the wrath of drunk Jackson. Call it community service_.

A moment later, Danny checks his phone, smiles. Leans in to whisper in Derek’s ear, “ _You’re nicer than you look_.” 

Derek half-smiles, embarrassed, and Danny takes his hand. 

 

The next morning, he meets Erica for breakfast at the diner near campus. She’s grinning ear to ear in a way that makes him distinctly nervous, but he doesn’t tell her to stop; he saw a late night Animal Planet special on large cats once that said to never show weakness. 

“How’s Danny?” she asks as the waitress pours them coffee. 

Derek rolls his eyes. “Fine. It’s weird. Whatever.”

“All relationships are weird at first,” she says, stirring sugar into her coffee. “That’s how it works. But give me all the details. How’s the sex?” Derek chokes. _Jesus_. She needs to come with a warning label this early. 

“We’re not having sex. Definitely not there yet,” he says, shaking his head quickly. They’d kissed in his car when he’d dropped Danny off at his apartment, but there hadn’t been an invitation to come up, thank God. He’s not ready for that yet. Not at all. 

Erica’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. “Wait, seriously? You haven’t fucked? Danny must really like you, then.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know,” she says, shrugging. “He has kind of a reputation for being basically irresistible and horrendously good at everything he does with his body. A guy as hot as you doesn’t usually walk away from a first encounter without having a complete reeducation on what good sex is. I’ve heard stories. They always get this glazed over look in their eyes when they remember. So the fact that you’ve had, what? Three encounters with him and he hasn’t rocked your world means he must like you. A _lot_.” 

Well, _shit_. 

Alright, that’s probably not the most appropriate reaction to realizing the guy you’re sort of dating likes you enough to not pressure you into sex. But, well, Derek hadn’t been expecting that Danny might like him a lot. Okay, he knows Danny _likes_ him, but that’s…a lot to take in.

Erica narrows her eyes at him. “You don’t look the mixture of flattered and horny I would expect. What’s wrong?”

“I dunno.” He shrugs. “It’s just moving a little fast. I hadn’t really thought about having sex with him.”

“ _Run that by me one more time_.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “You know, it’s just pretty early. I hadn’t really considered the bigger picture.”

“The bigger picture being _his dick_.” She stares at him like he’s a few Fruit Loops shy of a bowl. “Word on the street that even _Jackson_ has tried to get up on that. Are you _sure_ you actually like dudes? No judgement, I mean.” 

He thinks about it. Lately, he’s been jerking off to dudes a little more than usual. He sometimes can’t get the image of wide shoulders and girly hips out of his head, large hands and strong forearms with dark hair and freckles. He’s at least a little gay. That’s pretty certain. And he watched gay porn last night for the first time in a little while, and it was pretty hot, so that’s kind of a sure thing. 

“I think it’s just different because I’m dating someone. It’s weird still. That’s all,” he says, shrugging. 

“That’s really weird. Why don’t try thinking about Danny instead of Jennifer Lawrence or Chris Evans or whoever? If it helps, I’ve heard his dick is, like, eight inches.” Derek completely chokes on his sip of coffee, coughing like he’s dying of the black lung or some shit, and Erica just cackles while he asphyxiates. Because she’s _evil_. Completely evil. 

“You’re a horrible person,” he gets out eventually, hoarse like…fuck, all he can think about is _dicks_. “I hate you,” he tells her with complete certainty. 

 

He’s not actually avoiding Danny, he just has a lot of work. He has to write midterms for the Freshman Comp class he has to teach. And work on his thesis. And grade papers for Deaton to earn a couple of brownie points. And then work out because that’s a good way to rest his brain a little. And then he has to stop putting off designing his experiment for his thesis. So he’s really busy. Like, _really busy_. And he and Danny text a lot. Danny even brings him coffee once. But that’s all he really sees of him. Or anyone except Deaton, really. 

He’s not avoiding Danny. Or his penis. That’s totally not happening. 

(It’s kind of happening.)

Isaac comes to visit him one night when he’s working, bearing Thai food. Because he’s actually a cherub or guardian angel or something who knows when Derek’s hungry and stressed. 

Derek clears off his desk and they eat and everything’s right in the world. Until Isaac speaks.

“So, Erica made me to check up on you.”

 _Damn it_. Totally not a cherub, then. Clearly, he’s the spawn of Satan.

“She’s worried. And because she’s worried, Boyd’s worried.” Derek ignores him and eats angrily. “She said Danny asked her if everything was alright with you.” Which Derek knows because she called him and left an angry voicemail that started _It’s called Carpe Diem, Derek, and you need to seize the D! Maybe even with both hands, I’ve heard that might be necessary!_  

“I’m fine. Busy,” Derek says. “So we should probably keep dinner short.” Or, more accurately, _Leave_. 

“Derek, it’s two in the morning. I don’t think you can call it dinner anymore. It’s more of an extremely early breakfast. And it’s Saturday. Well, Sunday, technically. Which is kind of my point. Deaton told me you slept in your office last week. It’s not healthy. You don’t have a sassy gay friend to do this, so it falls to me: _Look at your life. Look at your choices_. Okay? You’re dating a really hot, really nice dude that everyone likes because he might actually be the second coming. So just think about maybe _seeing_ him sometime.”

Derek makes a face. “Fine. And I wouldn’t say Danny’s the second coming. That’s a little—“

“Have you ever seen him and Jesus in the same room?” Isaac gives him a look like this is somehow conclusive proof. “That’s all I’m saying.” 

“I’ll hang out with him,” Derek concedes. Because yeah, he probably should.

Isaac grins. “Good. Invite him to hang out with us next weekend or something. We can all chill, get to know him a little better. Nothing major. Beer and pizza. It’ll be nice.”

Derek shrugs in a way that’s sort of supposed to convey a much less committed version of _okay._

“And go home tonight. Sleeping here is lame, and if you keep doing it, I’ll have to do it next year too so I don’t look like a slacker compared to you, so let’s not. It’s a horrible tradition to start. Also, it’s fucking late as shit and you need to go home. This is sad.” 

“Why are you even up this late, then?” He’s not childish. At all.

“It’s a Saturday night. I left a party like half an hour ago. I’m on my way home. Please tell me you know what day of the week it is.” 

Derek scoffs. “Of course I know what day of the week it is.” _Now that Isaac has told him_.

“Right.” Isaac scrapes the last bite out of his takeout box. “Well, I’m going to go home and sleep like a normal person. You should do the same. I’m serious. If you don’t stop this, I’m going to move back in with you and completely reorganize the fridge.” That’s a very real threat. It had been _hell_ living with him last year.

“For the love of— Isaac, everyone knows the _milk_ goes in the _door_! And the drawers are _labelled_. There’s zero reason to put the vegetables in the cheese drawer!” he yells at Isaac’s retreating back. Isaac flips him the bird on the way out the door. 

“Some people just want to watch the world burn,” Derek says to himself as he stabs at his pad thai. 

 

An hour later, Derek manages to talk himself into leaving his office. He figures that after three games of spider solitaire, it’s time to give up the ghost and admit that he’s not doing shit. Also, he’s tired and the last pot of coffee burned because he forgot about it, so he’s a little cranky. And wants to sleep. Or punch things. Or dream about punching things in his sleep. 

Sleep is on the menu is the point. 

Of course, there’s no way that’s going to happen because Karma’s apparently not done shitting all over him for, like, killing innocent children in another life or some shit. He’s really fucked. Completely.

At first, he thinks it’s just a hobo sleeping on a bench in the middle of campus which, yeah, is a little weird, but then he realizes that he _recognizes_ the hobo, that it’s not a hobo at all, and, in an effort to appease the karmic gods in charge of shitting all over him, he stops. And kicks the not-hobo. Well, _knees_ him, more accurately. Because it’s Stiles and Stiles _has a dorm room_. That Derek’s been inside of, even. So the bench thing means he must have passed out drunk or something and that’s just _embarrassing_. 

“ _Getthefuckoffame_ ,” Stiles mumbles, flailing an arm around in the air. “ _Trynasleep_.”

“Well, that’s stupid because this is a public space, so get up. Go sleep in your bed like a normal person.” And then Stiles seems to recognize his voice, uncurls himself to look at Derek, then groans a little bit like Derek does when Laura pops up unexpectedly. 

“Oh my God, you are the last person I want to see _ever_ , go _awaaaaay_ ,” he whines, throwing an overly dramatic arm over his eyes. “Just let me sleep in peace.” 

“I will. Once you go home. Get up. Leave,” he says, kneeing him again.

“Why are you _here_? I do what I want, okay? _God_ , I hate you.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “That’s flattering, but I don’t really care what you want, so _get up_. Or I’ll make you.” Stiles peeks at him. Well, at his upper body, mostly. And then he sits up.

“Yeah, that’s actually kind of scary. You do this weird thing with your face, did you know that? I call it _Murder Eyes_. Yep, you’re doing it right now. _Wow_. That’s impressive. Okay, I’m getting up. Fuck you, I’m getting up.” He actually does, and it’s a slow and wobbly process.

“You’re not seriously too drunk to make it to your dorm, are you?” Derek says as Stiles falls back on his ass and has to try again. “That’s really sad. You should join a twelve-step program.”

“I’m not— No, it’s not like that. I had to get drunk so I could sleep on the bench.” 

Derek narrows his eyes at him. “You’re terrible at drunk logic. Has anyone told you that?”

Stiles makes this angry little huff, throwing his arms around. “ _No_ , I’m not really that drunk, I just had to drink so I could fall asleep out here. What time is it even?”

Derek checks his watch. “It’s a little after three. And please tell me you didn’t make a bet with someone that you could spend the night sleeping on a bench. That’s fucking stupid.” 

“I’m not that stupid, I swear,” he says, sighing like he’s _exhausted_. “My roommate kicked me out so he could lose his virginity, and who am I to protest _that_ cause? So I was going to sleep at Scott’s, but he has Allison over and _that_ ’s just not something I want to be there for, so basically, I’ve been one hundred percent sexiled. I have nowhere to go because for some reason, libraries aren’t open twenty four hours, even though they totally should be.” He glares at the general direction of the library and makes a growly noise.

Derek stares at him, trying to find something about Stiles that’ll piss him off to the point where he won’t consider what he’s totally going to consider. Because Derek’s been sexiled before. Forced to resort to asking Laura for a place to sleep. He _knows_ it sucks. But that doesn’t mean he has to do what he’s possibly going to do. He has zero obligation—

“You’re sleeping on my couch. Come on,” he says before he realizes that the words are even waiting to come out. _Fuck_. He can’t take that back. Take-backs are such a douchey thing to do.

Stiles’ mouth is wide open. “Are you serious? You’re serious. Oh my God. You’re saving my life. Seriously?”

Derek nods reluctantly, hating himself for offering. 

“Okay, you’re _sure_ , though?” Stiles asks. “Because you’re kind of giving me Murder Eyes right now and I’m a little worried that I might not wake up in the morning.” 

“I won’t kill you,” Derek says. _Yet_. And he walks off in the direction of his car, letting Stiles figure out if he wants to follow or not. 

Stiles’ sneakers are obnoxiously loud, slapping against the concrete as he comes bounding up behind him. Figures.

“You’re saving my life, you know,” Stiles tells him. 

Derek walks faster, sort of hoping he’ll discourage him or something. Maybe if he walks fast enough, Stiles will think he’s a crazy power walker with a murder dungeon and he’ll think better of it. It’s not really fair, since Derek was the one to offer in the first place, but he’s pretty sure that he’d been possessed or something at the time, so there’s a question of the legitimacy of the offer. 

Except Stiles will sleep on a bench if he gets rid of him, so maybe he’ll slow down a little. 

Derek almost doesn’t unlock the passenger side door for him, but his better nature wins out. That doesn’t mean he has to like his decision.

 

Derek refuses to talk the whole way to his apartment which, granted, is only about ten minutes. But Stiles fills the silence by alternately thanking him and asking him if he’s going to ask Stiles to put the lotion in the basket. 

“I’m not a serial killer,” he says as he gets out of the car. No, he’s just a masochist, apparently, because Stiles’ presence causes him physical pain. Literally. He’s got these weird, twisting pains in his stomach, and his joints kind of hurt, and his chest feels a little weird. Clearly, Stiles is some kind of contagious disease.

He flips the light on, realizes that he hasn’t cleaned since last weekend, and then gets over the mild shame about a second later. 

“The couch is yours. Don’t do anything weird to it. I don’t want to have to burn it,” he tells Stiles as he heads back into his bedroom for a pillow and blanket. Comes back out, tosses them on the couch. Stiles is looking at his DVD collection. If he talks shit about any of it, Derek’s going to kick him out. That’s final. 

“You actually bought Game of Thrones? I’m jealous,” Stiles says, still eyeing the titles.

Derek shrugs. “I felt guilty about watching it illegally after the third rewatch. And the commentary is gold.” 

“So jealous.” Stiles turns and looks at the couch, grins. “You have one of these blankets? I thought only moms had these.” Derek looks at the blanket. Pink, not particularly soft, acrylic silk border. Laura stole it from their house when they left for college, and now he keeps it for when she comes over. 

“If you don’t want it, I’ll take it back.” 

“No, it’s cool. Thanks. Really,” Stiles says, smiling a little. It’s soft, just a slight curve to his mouth. He has a nice mouth. 

…And he’s watching Derek. Watching him look at his mouth. Shit. 

“So, your boyfriend doesn’t mind that I’m here?” he asks, jerking his head in the direction of the bedroom. That’s confusing at first, but he realizes who he’s talking about.

Derek shakes his head. “Danny isn’t here. We’re…he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Oh. That’s awkward. Well, nevermind.” 

Derek doesn’t know what to say to that, so he kind of shrugs and leaves, shutting his bedroom door behind him.

What he _doesn’t_ do is think about Stiles’ mouth when his hand unconsciously reaches for his dick. He really doesn’t. That would be weird. Bad weird. Completely. No, he keeps his hands out of his pants, rolls over, and groans into his pillow. 

His life is horrible and the world hates him. Just completely horrible. 

 

In the morning, Derek decides not to make breakfast or coffee, and it’s not because he’s being considerate of the fact that Stiles is still asleep. He’s just too lazy to bother, that’s all. He does, however, find a sheet of paper and a pen to leave a note on top of Stiles’ shoes.

_Don’t steal my DVDs. Don’t eat all my food. Don’t use my shampoo._

He thinks for a second, then adds _Leave the spare key under the doormat after you lock up_. _If anything gets stolen, I know where you live_. 

The spare key is hanging from a magnet on the fridge. He sets it on top of the note.

Watching Stiles sleep would be creepy, so he doesn’t do that. (But he does notice that Stiles has surprisingly long eyelashes and sleeps with his mouth open. He’s not drooling, either. And his mouth is…well, it’s a mouth. It’s not that nice. He needs to calm down about it.) 

He also doesn’t kill Stiles in his sleep, so that’s something. That’s self-control right there. Look at him. _Wow, that’s impressive_ , Stiles’ voice says in his head.

And then he wants to drown in a lake of fire because Stiles’ voice _does not_ need to be in his head.

 

For some reason, the whole day, Derek feels like a weird combination of shitty and nervous, and he catches himself smiling at nothing. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten a venti today. Too much caffeine, obviously. 

 

Derek doesn’t call Danny. 

He’s not a coward, he just doesn’t like phone calls. So he texts. 

_Wanna hang out at Erica’s this weekend?_

He hasn’t technically _asked_ Erica and Boyd if they could hang out at their place, but she’ll make it happen when he tells her Danny’s coming. She’s terribly predictable like that. 

But it means he has nearly a week to not see Danny. Because there’s no reason to see each other if they’re just going to see each other soon. That’s ridiculous. People don’t see each other that much when they’re this early in a relationship. Who does that?

 

Boyd drags him to lunch on Wednesday. Burgers and shakes. It’s a little suspicious. Not so much the food, but Boyd actively seeking him out. They’re the kind of friends who just sort of end up doing stuff. They work out together because their schedules are similar, their coffee breaks are usually around the same time, and usually, if Derek hangs out with anyone on purpose, Boyd is there. They have a very comfortable understanding about their friendship that can only come from having been goaded into making out with each other while drunk. 

Thankfully, Boyd doesn’t bullshit, so he opens with what Derek would have asked.

“Erica thinks that it’ll spook you if she tries to hang out with you, so she’s making me do it instead. She wants you to know that she’s happy you’re bringing Danny over to ours, though she’s worried that you’re only doing it because you feel pressured. So. Do you feel pressured?”

Derek shrugs. “Yes. But I think it’s a good idea.” Boyd nods. Looks over his menu. 

“Well, good. Because otherwise I’m supposed to convince you that we come in peace or something like that. So, the Maui burger or the patty melt?”

“Maui,” Derek says without thinking. “Is that really all?”

“You were supposed to be harder to convince,” he says, closing the menu. “Although I _am_ supposed to tell you to get coffee with him tomorrow or Friday, but she said that was sort of a bonus, so do what you want. I’m a little curious about why you’re actively trying not to see him, _personally_ , but I figure you have your reasons. Just don’t be too hard on him. I like Danny. So. Do you know what you’re getting?” The waitress comes up to their table as he asks.

“What? Oh, yeah,” he says, then orders. When the waitress leaves, he asks, “Wait, do you think I’m going to break up with Danny? Or, well, stop seeing him.” 

Boyd raises an eyebrow, sips his water. “Well, _yes_.” He shrugs. “I didn’t really get the impression you were seeing him on purpose. I figured Erica was putting you up to it. She means well, but if the chemistry’s not right, it’s just not right.”

Derek nods. Boyd’s right. Completely right. He’s not sure why he didn’t think about it like that sooner.

“Besides, you’re sleeping with someone else.”

“Wait, _what_?” Derek tries not to yell, but it’s a little loud all the same.

“Yeah, Isaac told me. Don’t worry, Erica doesn’t know yet, but you should probably tell her before she finds out some other way.”

“I’m _not_ sleeping with anyone,” he says, rubbing his face. “Who the _hell_ does Isaac think I’m sleeping with?”

Boyd frowns. “You’re not? Because Isaac seemed really sure. You know how he’s the TA for one of Deaton’s classes? Well, a couple of guys he knows from lacrosse were talking about you, and he said it sounded like you took one of them home the other night, and that it wasn’t the first time.”

“Wait, _who_?” He has a weird feeling about this and if it’s right, he’s going to punch someone in particular.

“Uh, I think it was McCall and Stilinski.” Boyd sighs. “Actually, I’m glad it’s not true because I’d be side-eyeing you pretty hard if you were going for freshmen. You’re not really that type.” 

Derek’s sitting there in stunned silence. Stunned by _rage_. Because that _fucker_.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? Stiles is telling people we slept together?” Derek makes an accidental noise that’s close to a growl. “I’m going to kill him. I’m actually going to kill him. That _idiot_.” 

“Hey, maybe Isaac overheard wrong. Why do you know Stiles anyway? I mean, I’ve seen him more than I’d like. He pays me to keep the library open an extra hour from time to time. I didn’t know you were friends.”

“We’re _not_ ,” Derek says, more certain about that than he’s ever been about anything in his life. “He’s just always _there_. Being his stupid, annoying self. We run into each other way too much. Fuck, I _knew_ I shouldn’t have let him know where I live.”

Boyd’s eyebrows jerk upwards. “Why, exactly, does he know where you live?” Well, that’s awkward. There’s no non-weird way to explain it because it _is_ weird. And stupid.

“I took pity on him. He was sexiled and I let him sleep on my couch. It was a stupid thing to do. Who has Isaac told? Because I _did not_ sleep with him.” Derek pictures Stiles trying to be seductive, shooting finger guns at him and falling off the bed. It’s startlingly vivid. “I mean, have you see him? It’s a miracle he’s able to _walk_ with his total lack of coordination. He’d probably put my eye out if we ever had sex.” He totally would. His elbows are stupid and go everywhere. And he’d talk too much with his stupid mouth, so Derek would have to kiss him to get him to just _shut up_. And he’d probably be a ridiculous kisser, messy and—

“Wow. You just completely zoned out. Do you realize that?” Boyd asks, and oh, he’s judging so hard. “No, seriously, you just got this faraway look in your eyes. _Completely_ gone. You were thinking about having sex with him, weren’t you? That’s fucked up.”

There’s no point in denying because Boyd will _know,_ dammit, so all he can manage is a weak, “He’s eighteen, right?”

“Jesus. _Yes_. But if you date him, I reserve the right to call him Jailbait. Forever. And years from now, I’ll bring it up when you least expect it, maybe even in front of Laura. Or, hell, your best man speech. You’ll never be able to escape your horrible decisions.” 

“In this scenario, am I marrying him or someone else?”

“ _Someone else_ , Derek.” Boyd goes very still all of a sudden. “Wait, you thought I might be implying that you would be with Jailbait for the long haul? Do you _want_ to marry Jailbait?”

“What? _No_. I don’t even want to _date_ him. It was for clarity, I swear.”

Boyd narrows his eyes. “So you just want to fuck him, then? I don’t know if I should be glad or if I should worry that this is some bad road you’re going down.”

Jesus H. Christ. This is messed up. He _definitely_ doesn’t want to fuck _Stiles_ , of all people _,_ except that Derek may have kind of imagined having sex with him and that’s kind of weird. Especially because it didn’t _feel_ weird. Well, to his head, yes, but not to his dick.

“You know what?” Boyd says, like he’s really considering something. “Fuck it, I’ll be supportive of you wanting to fuck Jailbait. It’s more than you want to do with Danny.”

Derek chokes. 

The waitress appears with their burgers, but he’s suddenly not hungry at all. 

“You’re the worst,” he tells Boyd with complete certainty. 

 

Derek doesn’t let himself think about Stiles, and he doesn’t ask Danny for coffee because he’s worried that he might accidentally break up with him. And then Erica would kill him. Probably. So he doesn’t do that, but he does go for coffee by himself. 

…And runs into Allison. 

He tries for a half-nod and polite smile, the bare minimum of social interaction, but she beckons him over to her table once he has his coffee.

“Hi! Derek, it’s nice to see you. How’s it going?” 

“Fine.” Alright, so he doesn’t really make much of an effort. Too bad. 

She smiles, and she has dimples, too, like Danny. Fuck.

“So. That’s. Good to hear. I’m happy you’re fine. That’s good. Isn’t it?” Wow. Nervous much? This is really uncomfortable. 

“What’s going on?”

She makes a face that’s not convincing, then sighs and relaxes. “Lydia is worried because Jackson is worried because Danny is worried that you don’t like him. It’s all they’ve been talking about lately. I thought maybe if we talked, you might convince me there’s nothing to worry about?” Now her smile is genuine, earnest. She’s a sweet kid, and it makes him feel guilty.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” he says at last. “I don’t know if I like him as much as I should.”

“Oh. Well. At least you’re honest.”

He shrugs. “I’m sorry. He’s really nice and I like him as a person, but…”

“But it’s not clicking?” she asks, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Pretty much.

She nods, says, “It happens. Either you click with someone or you don’t. Like, with me and Scott, it was immediate. He loaned me a pen in English, and that was that. But if it doesn’t happen for you and Danny, you shouldn’t force it.”

“You’re not mad at me? He’s your friend.”

“Danny’s a big boy,” she says with a little smile. “He can handle it. I mean, if you’re mean to him, I’ll kick you ass, but he’ll understand. I don’t think he’s, like, in _love_ with you or anything. He just likes you. I can see why. I mean, you look kind of intimidating, but you’re nice.”

He raises an eyebrow, skeptical. “What did I ever do to give you that impression?”

“Stiles,” she says, then chokes on her coffee. “I mean, you didn’t _do_ Stiles, I just meant that I see him a lot and he talks about you. Not like _talks about you_ talks about you. Sometimes he says stuff like that you might be a murderer, but he’s just joking. And, you know—“ she waves a hand, indicating something he isn’t getting. 

“What?”

“Oh, well, it’s nothing.” She looks at him steadily for a moment, then seems to give up. “You’re good-looking. He has eyes. That’s all.” 

Derek frowns. Stiles thinks he’s attractive? Shit, he does not need to go down that road. Or soon enough, Boyd is going to be telling the wedding congregation that he called Stiles Jailbait—

Wait, _wedding_ congregation? Fuck, this is a nightmare. He _knows_ what a Freudian Slip is, goddammit, he has a degree in Psychology, and this is _not okay_.

“Derek, you okay there?” Allison looks concerned. “He’s not writing sonnets or anything. He just sort of says stuff like you should stop using Thor as your FitSpiration.” 

“No, sorry, I was thinking about something else. Just, you know, everything in my life is spiraling out of control. Don’t worry about it.” 

She’s not convinced. 

“I’m late for a very important meeting,” he says quickly, getting up. “This has been nice, but I have to go.” _Or it’s going to get ugly_. He had a dog once who would throw up when he got too stressed. He’s feeling a bit like that dog right now. 

“Are you sure? Scott’s supposed to meet me here any minute—“

“Really. I have to go. See you around.”

He’s _out_ of there, setting land speed records, walking far, far away from that horrible interpersonal mess. 

 

When he’s in his office, he dials Laura’s number without thinking. 

“ _What’s up, loser? You finally want to talk to me now?_ ”

“I need to break up with someone. Also, this is totally unrelated, but would you still talk to me if I slept with a freshman?”

“ _Derek. What did you do?_ ” her voice is soft and intense, like she’s really worried he’s done something stupid.

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose, grimacing. “Don’t worry, the last part is _purely_ hypothetical. I’m just sort of seeing someone and I don’t want to be. You always meddle, so _help me_.”

“ _You’re sure you want to break up with this person? Also, do you know if wanting to sleep with a freshman is because you want to break up or vice versa?_ ” Shit, he can’t lie all that well, but he can’t really tell her what he actually thinks. Guess he’ll have to take a risk.

“It’s not really me asking. About the freshman. A fight with Isaac. He did, and I judged him, and he thought it was no big deal, so I suppose I was just wondering. In general.”

“ _Derek, if I give you a piece of advice, will you listen to me?_ ”

“You’re going to give it to me whether I want it or not, aren’t you?”

“ _Yes. Because you can’t lie for shit, not to me. Now, listen to me very carefully: what you’re suffering from is called_ Fish Fever _. Everyone gets it once in their life. You get horny and desperate, and then there’s all these slutty, eager freshmen who want to cash in their v-cards or have a good story to tell their friends when they get home for winter break. If you give in to their wiles, they_ win _, Derek. Do you understand me? Don’t let them win. Or you’ll end up with some rabbity kid who doesn’t even last long enough to break a sweat. If you can describe him as ‘nubile’, it’s a no-fly zone, okay? I swear, it’s for the best. So don’t let your penis make you think it’s a good idea to break up with someone. But if you_ really _want to end things? Man up, assface. Just tell them they’re a chill-ass dude and good-looking as all get-out, but you don’t really want to tap that because you have trust issues. They’ll understand if they’re not an asshole, and I assume you wouldn’t date an asshole._ ” 

Derek sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Fine. Okay. I can do that. And ‘nubile’, Laura? Really? Mental images.”

“ _Your mind has gone there, don’t lie to me._ ” It hadn’t because _nubile_? Really?

He’s not going there. Down that path lies darkness and weirdness.

Not going there.

(He’s going there. 

And _there_ is a very strange place with fleeting images of Stiles twisted up in his sheets, his hand stuttering over his stomach, the curve of his lower back, the bone of his hip and the curl of his leg around Derek’s back.)

“ _If you are thinking about him naked while you’re on the phone with me, I am going to kill you._ ”

Derek’s guilty silence is answer enough.

“ _Derek, what did I tell you? No-fly zone! You’ll regret it and I will never let you live it down._ ” She makes an angry noise. “ _I’m serious, if you sleep with him, I’ll tell Mom_.” A cold fear runs down his spine. If Laura tells Mom, she’ll make him take Stiles home or something to make up for it. Jesus. He’d be so fucked. 

“Heard you loud and clear. No-fly zone. I wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole.”

 _“That better not be a euphemism for your penis, I swear to God_.”

“It’s not. I promise.”

She sighs, crackly, in the speaker. “ _Good. Now stop being a baby, baby bro._ ” 

“Seriously. Eleven minutes. You can’t even get Starbucks that fast.”

 

An hour later, he gets a text from Erica: _Laura told me to tell you to break up with Danny. If that’s what you want, you better do it before this weekend. I am not sitting with him at movie night knowing that you wanted to break up with him so badly you called your sister. Can you say awkward?_

And then a moment later, she follows it up with: _If you fuck a freshman, you will never be able to judge anyone for anything ever._

 

Derek means to do her the simple courtesy of breaking up with Danny. He does. But he doesn’t want to call Danny to hang out the day before because that’s just weird and seeing too much of each other and, well, he doesn’t want to break up with him. He wants the end result, but the process? Not so much. 

Erica gives him a death glare when she opens the door to see both him and Danny, but quickly exchanges it for a smile. “Hell _o_ there! Come on in! Boyd’s on his way back with the pizza. Beer’s in the fridge. Help yourselves!” 

“Thanks! It’s great of you to have us over,” Danny says. Derek winces at the _us_. 

“Yeah, no, no problem,” Erica says, but when Danny passes by her, she mouths, “ _I thought you were going to take care of this!_ ” When he turns around, she grins like nothing happened. “Come on. Derek can show you around. Isaac and I are trying to narrow down the movie selection, so grab a beer. Chill.” She beams and practically skips away. Derek feels a little guilty. More than a little. But whatever.

“Kitchen?” Danny asks.

Derek leads him through the entryway to the kitchen, grabs a couple beers out of the fridge. Smiles. Because he’s trying to be nice. Danny smiles back, brushing his fingers against Derek’s as he takes a beer. 

“Thanks for asking me to hang out with your friends, by the way. It’s really nice.” 

“Yeah, no problem.” Then it feels like they should kiss or something, so he goes in for it, but Danny pulls away after a second. He looks nervous.

“I feel like I should tell you,” he says, “because it’s weird not to. But, uh, someone hit on me. I turned him down, of course! But I thought I should let you know. In the business of honesty.”

Derek shrugs. “No, I mean, I understand. Guys probably hit on you a lot.” Danny smiles at the compliment. His fucking dimples. Derek’s going to break up with someone with dimples like a baby angel. He’s a terrible person.

“Well, it was no big deal, anyway. I mean, it was just Stiles.” Derek stiffens. Stiles hit on Danny? Stiles hit on _Danny_? 

Stiles _hit on_ Danny. 

Stiles likes Danny. That’s why he asked about Danny when he was over at Derek’s. Because he wanted Danny to be there because he wanted to see Danny because he _likes_ Danny _._ Guess he thought that he needed someone to like after Lydia and it’s _Danny_. He’s not sure why that feels like a betrayal but it _does_. 

But why should he care? Really. Stiles is just some stupid freshman who can’t hold his liquor and likes Game of Thrones and would sooner sleep on a bench outside than cockblock his friends and loves girls who won’t give him the time of day _unconditionally_ and uses his hands too much when he talks and puked on Derek’s shoes the first time they met and apologized for it and _fuck_.

He might possibly have feelings for Stiles. 

(That is to say, he might be in love with Stiles.)

This is not a good revelation to have standing in front of the guy he’s dating. 

“Are you okay? I’m serious, it wasn’t anything. I think he talks without thinking, you know? It happens.”

What he wants to say is _It’s no big deal_.

What he wants to say is _I don’t care_.

What he wants to say is _He’s just a punk ass kid_.

What he actually says is “I think we should stop seeing each other.”

And then he swears. Because he’s a fucking idiot.

Danny’s face falls completely. “Oh. Well. I mean, alright, I didn’t think it was that serious, but I can’t _force_ you to date me—“

“No, Danny, it’s not St— It’s not about this. It’s just a, you know, thing,” he says weakly, shrugging. He’s not sure at all what to say because this is _not_ how this was supposed to happen. _Shit_.

Danny sighs. “To be honest? I guess I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. I mean, the only thing I know about you, really, is that you have a sister you don’t like. It’s a pretty good sign when someone doesn’t feel comfortable enough to talk about themselves that they’re not really that into you. But you seemed like you still wanted to date, so I don’t know. I’m sorry I missed some signals.” Wow. And that feels shitty.

“No, it’s not like that.” He reconsiders. “I mean, it is, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lead you on.”

“It’s fine. You were testing the waters, right?” Danny smiles a little. “It’s cool. I understand.”

He’s a great person and Derek apparently kills babies for fun. 

“Uh, look, do you mind if I go? It’s just…this is going to be an awkward night if I stick around, so…”

“No, it’s fine. Do you want me to drive you?”

Danny shakes his head. “Nah, it’s not much of a walk to the Row. I’ll see you?”

“Yeah. See you.” Danny sets his beer down, offers a smile and a nod, and then he’s gone. And Derek is an abysmal human being. Really, truly terrible.

“When I told you how to break up with Danny, I didn’t mean in my kitchen,” Erica says, hands on her hips. “But I suppose it’s better this way because we didn’t get enough pizza for five people. So. Come watch a movie. It’s between Pulp Fiction and The Princess Bride.” 

“I think I just made a horrible mistake.”

“I know,” she says, taking him by the arm. “You’ll survive.”

He doesn’t tell her that he doesn’t mean breaking up with Danny. That he means falling face-first in lo— in _feelings_ for Stiles. 

“I’m so fucked,” he says to himself.

Erica pats him on the shoulder. “No, sweetie, quite the opposite. But you’re going to be okay. There’s pizza and beer and ice cream in the freezer. You’ll be fine. Celibate and alone, but fine.”

 

 _What’s it called when you want to fuck someone but also eat tacos with them and watch movies?_ Derek texts to Laura. 

The reply comes half a minute later: _I think it’s called a heart boner_.

 

He doesn’t tell Erica or Boyd or Isaac about his painful heart boner. Like, he’s got the worst blue balls in his feelings area. Because he’s going to ignore his affection erection until it disappears from his conscious mind and subtly affects everything he says and does until he works it out with a therapist many years down the road. That’s repression, and he’s going to do it right, goddammit. 

His life is horrible.

In a weird, masochistic way, he wants to call Laura and tell her the _truth_ because she’ll fix it, she almost always does, but he fears her intervention. And judgement. Because there will be a _lot_ of that. He’s not ready to deal with it, so he doesn’t tell her anything. Even though she texts him at least once a day about how she’s sorry he broke up with his first boyfriend— _he’s twenty-five, goddammit, not a high schooler with a broken heart_ —and how she’s worried. 

She’s not worried. She just wants more info to use to her advantage. Because she’s evil. 

 

He throws himself into his work.

It helps a tiny bit. 

Not much. 

Deaton looks kind of worried about him, actually, which is not a good sign. So he starts spending more time off-campus to avoid one of Deaton’s cryptic and weirdly intense personal inquiries. 

 _That_ doesn’t work, apparently, or Deaton has spies at his gym, because he comes into his office one morning and finds Deaton sitting at his desk.

“Sit down, Derek.” 

Derek sits, dreading what’s to come.

“It’s come to my attention that you’ve been… _off_ lately. Is there something you’d like to talk about, Derek? Nothing leaves this office.” He gives one of his Deaton smiles that’s pure shrink, warm and comforting without being overbearing. 

“I’m fine. Just stressed. It happens.”

“I suppose you won’t tell me what’s _really_ bothering you?” he asks, still smiling. 

Derek shrugs. “Nope. It’s not a big deal. I’m fine.” _Last night I jerked off to an eighteen year old I’ve only met four times and came so hard I got jizz on my chin_ , _no problems here_. 

He’s not really fine. He might be a little obsessive, actually. 

“I was wondering, though,” he says before Deaton can tell him that he needs to face his problems or whatever. “I heard you teach freshmen this semester? I thought you didn’t do that.”

“I don’t. Or at least not a class of them. But I teach two elective classes that anyone can sign up for. Why do you ask?”

“No reason. Just curious.”

Deaton’s eyes narrow. “Do you know them? You’re not one to casually inquire about undergraduate students, Derek.”

“Oh. Well. I know them. That’s all. They’re alright. Isaac just said something, so I was curious.” 

“Curiosity is the key to the inquisitive mind,” Deaton says sagely, then stands. “Just be careful not to overwork yourself, Derek. It’s not good for your health, physical or mental.” 

“Of course,” he says as Deaton leaves. 

If he slams his head into his desk, well, there’s no one to see. 

 

When he gets home he puts “Gotta Be Somebody” on repeat and pretends that his eyes are manfully sweating. He doesn’t sing along. Well, okay, he does. He really does. He gets _into_ it. No one has to know.

 

Lydia saunters into his life one day as he waits in line to buy lunch at the cafeteria. 

“Danny has reached the point where he wants to see you again, so you should come to my party this Friday. It’s been a while since I’ve seen your chiseled mug, so dress sharp and be there.” 

“What if I don’t want to go?” he asks, just to be petulant.

“ _Then_ ,” she says, smiling in a way that does not bode well, “I’ll tell Laura that you’ve been rather anti-social as of late and she’ll yell at you until you decide it’s in your best interests. If I were you, I’d just cut out the middle man and show.”

He sighs loudly. “Fine. I’ll be there. I’m bringing friends, though. Non-Greek friends.”

“I don’t care. Just show,” she says, whisking away like an evil whirlwind of expensive perfume and terrifying heels.

 

Derek arrives fashionably late with Erica, Boyd, and Isaac in tow. 

Despite what Erica says, they are not an entourage.

The party’s in full swing, evident by the fact that he sees someone peeing against the side of the house as they walk in. The music’s pretty loud, and there’s a shit ton of people, but that’s how Lydia likes her parties, and she knows how to throw them. 

“You should find someone to bone,” Erica says loudly in his ear. 

Derek rolls his eyes. “We haven’t even gotten drinks yet and you’re telling me to hook up with a stranger? Come on. Have some class.”

“I’m very classy,” she informs him. “Last night, I put my frozen mac and cheese in a bowl. After cooking it in the _oven_. I am the queen of class.” 

“Clearly.”

Isaac grabs him by the arm, saying, “Come on, I want booze!” and drags them all to the kitchen to get drinks.

He’s mixing something when he perks up, swivels, and grins.

“ _SCOTT!_ Bro, what’s up!” The drinks are forgotten as he goes to hug it out or whatever, and Derek _knows_ that wherever Scott is, Stiles must be—

Stiles waves at him. It’s sort of a small wave, and then he immediately seems to second-guess it, like maybe they’re not quite on that level. He clears his throat and nods at them.

“How are you guys? Party’s banging, huh?” 

Erica winks at him, says, “It’s about to be.” Her smile is predatory and terrifying and whoa, that is _not_ her dinner, Stiles is not on the menu for anyone else right now.

“Hey, Erica. You look scary and beautiful as ever.” 

Derek cuts off Erica before she can respond, asking, “Wait, you know each other?”

“I work in the Writing Help Center,” she says coolly. “He needed help on an essay on what was it? Genital piercing?” Derek chokes.

Stiles shakes his head, says, “History of the male circumcision, actually. I got an A, by the way.”

“Good job,” she says, actually seeming kind of proud. “I’ll admit I’m a little surprised, considering that we mostly just looked at a bunch of porn.” Stiles turns bright red, and they share a look like there might be more to that story. The blush is actually weirdly attractive on him, and the thought of him looking at porn? Well, Derek’s saving that for the spank bank. Something occurs to him, though, because this should be _way_ more awkward. 

As Erica chats with Stiles, Derek leans behind her to mouth at Boyd, “ _You didn’t tell her his name?_ ”

Boyd, the good man, shakes his head, then gives him a little _Your secret’s safe with me, bro_ nod. Because Boyd is the best. Everyone else can go home. 

If Erica were to find out, though….

Nope, he’s not going to worry about it. 

“Hey, do you guys know Scott and Allison?” Isaac says loudly, then makes introductions. 

It’s weird, really weird, and after a few moments, they all have drinks and they’re all moving outside to talk, and that’s just too much. Because Derek can’t look at Stiles but he also can’t look away, and he’s just not sure what to do with his face. 

Of course, he ends up looking at Stiles and maybe his resting expression is a little intense because Stiles mouths _Murder Eyes_ at him, and then Derek’s covering a grin. It’s not even that funny, but it almost is, and how shocked Stiles gets at his reaction is stunning in a way that hurts. He’s considering actually putting some _effort_ into the Murder Eyes to see what Stiles will do when he hears a voice yell behind him.

“ _Derek_! There you are! I’m so glad to see you made it.” Lydia comes over and hugs him delicately, hugs Allison, and gives everyone else a hostess sort of smile. “Have fun everyone. Oh, and by the way, Jackson and Danny just came back from the liquor store. They’re inside.” She gives Derek a little look and flounces off. 

“You should go get Danny to come join us,” Erica says, eyes very unsubtle. 

Derek shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t want it to be weird.”

“Well, _I_ ’ll go get him, then!” Isaac says, rolling his eyes. “I _like_ Danny.” He leaves the circle to go get him, but stops next to Derek, leans in, and asks, “Hey, you’re my friend, so I wanna see if it’s okay if, you know, an opportunity presents itself, can I tap that?”

Derek has no idea who he’s talking about, but he glances at Stiles suspiciously.

“ _No_ , weirdo. _Danny._ ” Well, that’s only half unexpected.

Derek waves him off. “Knock yourself out.” 

Isaac fist bumps him, grinning. “Good because he’s hot as shit and I’ve heard _stories_ , Derek. Stories you would. Not. Believe.”

Derek makes a face as he bounces off. _Way_ too much information. He already knows too much about Isaac’s sex life from living with him. It took _weeks_ to get those noises out of his head.

Erica leans in, asks, “What was that about?”

“Isaac wanted the go-ahead for Danny. I gave it. Don’t worry about it.” She gives him a look, glances in the direction Isaac ran off, rolls her eyes. Derek shrugs and tries to look interested as Scott tells the group the very touching story of how he and Allison made eye contact once and decided they wanted to fuck like bunnies. His attempts are probably not very successful. 

Isaac, Danny, and Jackson join them not long after. Danny smiles at him, and Derek returns it. It seems genuine. That’s good. He really doesn’t want any awkwardness between them. Danny’s pretty cool, as a guy. To use Erica’s terms, he just doesn’t want the D. 

Then there’s Lydia and music, and suddenly everyone wants to dance. Derek doesn’t dance. It’s not a thing he does. _Ever_. 

So everyone, in their little couples, starts getting down or whatever, and Derek just stands off to the side. He tries to look very above it all. 

And then he sees Stiles dance. 

It’s an _experience_. The dancing, not the watching, because Stiles does this weird full-body thing and just really _goes_ for it in a way that makes Derek tap his toes inside his shoes. It’s not some stupid thing like Stiles dances like nobody’s watching; he dances like he knows people expect him to make a fool of himself and he’s determined to prove them right. Like he’s embraced it as a part of his being and he’s going to be the best, most ridiculous dancer anyone has ever seen. It’s like all of the dance moves the seventies rejected as _a little too much_. It’s like a demonic possession. It’s like he’s being electrocuted. 

In the stupidest way, Stiles dancing makes Derek want to dance with him like just as much of an idiot because it would be _fun_. Dancing has never looked _fun_ before, just awkward. So that’s a weird feeling.

Derek’s about to move, he can feel his body trying to propel himself to join everyone, to join Stiles, when the song changes and Stiles draws himself out of the fold of dancers. He spots Derek and comes over, smiling and a little flushed. 

“Hey, I fucking hate this song. You wanna go get something to drink with me? I’ve been told that you’ve protected my virtue well in the past,” he says. His eyes are bright and _shit_ , he’s actually _beautiful_ , and Derek is nodding, apparently. He’s too focused on not dragging him into a corner to get his mouth on that. He’s trying very hard, following him to the kitchen, following Stiles’ wide shoulders like he would follow him over a cliff or something. 

It’s pathetic. _He_ ’s pathetic.

“Okay, so, confession time,” Stiles says with a sheepish grin. “I don’t actually know how to mix drinks. I just drink whatever. So if you want something you don’t have to wince through, maybe you could make us something?” He smiles, and Derek just wants to lick his teeth or something.

“Sure,” Derek says, because it’s something he can do. He’s tended bar. This is something in his skill set. He grabs soda, liquor, starts assembling stuff, and then stops. Looks at Stiles. “You got an ID?” 

Stiles goes white so fast it’s ridiculous. He looks like he thinks Derek’s going to arrest him or something. Not _exactly_ what he’d intended. But then apparently Stiles gets it and grins, a hand on his heaving chest. 

“Jesus Christ, give me a heart attack, why don’t you? You can’t just _make jokes_. Gotta give me a little warning first. I thought you were serious. You’re terrifying, you know that?”

Derek smiles, pouring, measuring by eye. 

“Seriously. If there were a string of suspicious deaths in the area, you’re the first person I would look at.”

“I’m not actually a serial killer,” Derek says as he hands him a drink. 

“Thanks. And you keep saying that, but I’m going to wait for some evidence before making my mind up on that one.” 

Derek smiles, all teeth, asking, “What happened to innocent until proven guilty?

Stiles stares at him, a weird look on his face, before says, “You know, you’re a complete lunatic. Totally ridiculous.” Derek’s not sure why, but that doesn’t sound like a bad thing from his mouth. “Come on, let’s go stand in the wallflower corner until some better music comes on.” Stiles touches his arm and he follows without being dragged, so willingly he feels stupid.

When they get outside and occupy a little spot, Derek, watching his friends, deadpans, “You’re quite the dancer, you know.” There a moment of silence, then the sound of Stiles sputtering.

“I’m serious, dude, _warning_ ,” he says. “And don’t make fun of my sweet moves unless you’re trying to challenge me to a dance-off. I have yet to see you get down. I bet you can twerk, can’t you? You totally can, don’t lie.” 

“I don’t even know what that is.”

After a second, he glances at Stiles, who looks utterly unconvinced. “That’s such a lie. You’re a twerk champion, aren’t you? You pop dat booty on the regular, don’t ya?” Derek chokes, going somewhere actually kind of nasty with that, and then Stiles is bright red and coughing. “No, Not— That’s not what I meant! I take it back!”

“I know you’re just trying to bait me into demonstrating my incredible skill, but it’s not going to happen. I only do that in private.” Stiles chokes again and Derek realizes that he’s flirting, albeit terribly. But he’s _flirting_. He hasn’t done that in ages. Hadn’t meant to.

“I hate you. You did that on purpose, didn’t you? I think I almost died, so thank you for that.”

Derek smiles, shrugs. “You’re welcome.” 

The song is now some sort of gangster rap thing that Erica’s getting really into, gesturing at her imaginary penis, driving her imaginary car, spanking her imaginary bitches. It’s mostly hilarious because Boyd is right next to her doing the typical elbows-at-the-waist-shuffle-from-side-to-side dude dance, only he’s really _into_ it, like focusing really hard. 

Isaac and Danny are kind of grinding up on each other, which he feels weird looking at, so he skips over them. Lydia and Jackson are actually weirdly cute, just for this one moment, because even though he’s behind her in a way that should be uncomfortably sexual, they’re making eye contact and smiling at each other. If nothing else, they’re well-suited to each other. And then Allison and Scott are having some special moment that the rest of the world hasn’t been invited to, but Derek gets the feeling that that’s kind of how they are as a couple. 

“Cute, aren’t they?” Stiles asks, tipping his head at them. “You know, he’s thinking about proposing.” Derek snaps to him, alarmed. “It’s early, yeah, they’ve only know each other for a few months, but he really thinks she’s the one, you know? And I’m tempted to agree. I had my doubts at first, but they’re good together.”

Derek nods. He can see it for sure. Marriage is a little premature, but there’s always that one couple who meet and start dating in the first week of freshman year and end up married. Maybe it’s them. 

“Speaking of couples, you share your booty calls with your bros?” 

“Huh?” Derek follows his gaze to Isaac and Danny. “Oh. No. Danny wasn’t my booty call, and Isaac can do whatever the hell he likes.”

“Past tense,” Stiles says quietly.

“What?”

“Nothing. This is a good drink.” Stiles finishes his, tipping his head back in a way that shows his throat, the movement of him swallowing. Fuck. Well. He’ll be revisiting that image later for sure. 

“Want another?” Derek asks, mostly because he wants to watch Stiles swallow some more. Not the purest of motives, but he’s trying to be courteous, too. He’d been a clumsy freshman who had to mix his own drinks back in the day, and he knows the value of a good mixed drink when you haven’t learned to do it yet.

“You trying to get me drunk?” Stiles asks with a wicked grin. “Kidding. Go forth, bartender. Bartend!” He hands his cup to Derek and he goes inside, mixes quickly, thinks about how he’s in completely over his head. 

When he comes back outside, Stiles is bouncing to the beat of the song a little. He drinks almost half of the drink Derek offers in the first gulp. He needs a keeper, that’s for sure. 

“I’m gonna go dance,” Stiles says. “You wanna join me, or are you going to stand here like Batman some more?” 

Derek smiles a little. “Maybe some other time. Not really in the mood.” 

“Fine. I know you’re just studying my moves so you can use them later. I’m not stupid.” Stiles winks and hops off, meshes into the crowd. 

And Derek? 

He stands there.

(Like Batman.)

It’s actually just as brooding for a while, but then he finds Stiles again, and well. Well. Because Stiles is, well, _getting down_. There’s still that general air of ridiculousness and mindful flailing, but he’s doing things with his hips that might be illegal. Just a little. It’s kind of hypnotizing, actually. 

Derek didn’t stand here with the intent of staring at his ass, but that’s what he’s doing and he’s man enough to admit it. 

It’s a nice ass.

Even though he feels a little bit like a skeevy old man for staring. It’s just hard not to. Even when Stiles does some stupid lasso thing that no one’s done since the nineties, his hips are circling and it’s hard for Derek to get his mind out of the gutter. Or his pants. 

After a while, Stiles bounces over, plucks Derek’s drink from his hands, downs it, and goes back to dance. He gets a little less coordinated and a lot more sexual, to the point where it’s starting to hurt to watch him. In the groinal region. Derek’s not sure if he should go inside or tell Stiles he’s really drunk or what, so he just stands there, paralyzed by indecision.

But then he doesn’t have to. Stiles is coming towards him doing that lame pantomimed rope-drawing-you-in thing that Derek has always thought was tacky until now, and suddenly, there’s a hand wrapped around his and he’s being pulled over to the dancers. 

“Shake your moneymaker!” Stiles yells at him, laughing, and Derek can’t really do this. He’s not actually able to dance. 

So he just stands there. Like an idiot. Stiles grabs his hips, a clumsy touch that stays with him long after his hands leave, and tries to make him shake his hips but it’s _not_ happening. Maybe because he’s sober, but he can’t do it. He’s frozen up. And objectively, he knows it’s more embarrassing to not dance when other people are dancing than it is to dance stupidly, but he just _can’t._ Too much pressure or something. 

“You’re hopeless,” Stiles tells him with gravity, and that hurts more than it should. Even though Stiles is clearly pretty drunk and probably doesn’t mean it as an all-encompassing statement. “Guys, tell Derek he’s hopeless. He won’t dance!” Stiles yells at Scott and Allison. 

“Sorry, man,” Scott says, shrugging. “Once Stiles starts dancing, he doesn’t stop until everyone else is. Might as well get it over with.” 

Stiles is talking to Allison as he says this, and when Derek catches on to his speech, he hears, “you know, I just really love you a lot. I mean, Scott, man, he’s like a _brother_ to me. Since we were little kids. We are _closer_ than _close_. The closest. And you! You’re gorgeous, you really are, but you’re also super nice, and I am just so _happy_! Even if I sometimes get these— these pains? In my chest? Because you’re just so _perfect_ together! Like, _really perfect_. And I’m just, wow, just so happy that Scott, my brother from another mother, is going to—“ that’s when Derek notices Scott trying to gesture at him to _stop_ “—well, is planning, or thinking about planning—“

Without thinking, Derek just grabs him and lays one on him. He’s not even really sure why it’s so important to help Scott out, but it is, and who the hell is Scott? That’s not a real person because there’s actually only one other person on the entire planet, and that person has his mouth on Derek’s. He tastes like vodka and Sprite, but his hands are in Derek’s hair now and they’re pressed together from shoulder to knee. 

Well. 

It’s probably the best kiss he’s had since high school, since, well, _her_. Not that she matters because _Stiles._

Stiles.

Stiles, who is pulling away, but looks like some fantasy he never knew he had. 

Stiles, who’s saying, “Do you wanna go somewhere with me?” and Derek wants to say _yes_ more than anything, but on accident, he catches Erica’s eye and she’s looking at him like some horror movie type shit is going down. People are _looking at them_. People like Scott, who looks a little surprised and maybe freaked out. People like Danny, who looks like he’s been hit by a very strange truck that he’s kind of okay with but not so sure yet. And, well, Derek panics. That’s the only way to say it. He freaks out. 

“You, uh, you should go home, you’re really drunk.” He doesn’t look at Stiles, but he knows Stiles is looking at him strangely.

“Do you mean _with you_? Because I am _so_ down it’s not even funny—“

“No, I mean you should ask Scott to take you home.”

Stiles barks out a weird laugh, shaking his head. “You are really terrible at sarcasm, has anyone ever told you that?” Shit, this just hurts like a motherfucker, but he has to do it. Or this is going to get too weird. People are _watching_ them.

“I’m not being sarcastic,” he says. “Ask Scott to take you home. You’re too drunk.”

“Are you _serious_ right now? Because I think I _distinctly_ remember you being the one kissing me.” Jesus. Okay. Great. Derek grabs his arm and pulls him over to the side, away from Allison and everyone else. 

“I kissed you because you have a big mouth when you’re drunk and you almost told Allison that Scott was thinking of _marrying_ her. Now, I know they’re special and _meant to be_ or whatever, but that freaks girls out this early in the game. _Sorry_ that I was trying to keep you from ruining your best friend’s relationship because you’re wasted. You can thank me later. Now go find someone sober to take you home. _Jesus_.” 

Stiles shoves him. “You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?” he spits and storms off. Derek sighs, shakes himself out. He finds Erica in the crowd of people who are pretending they weren’t just watching him and gestures that he’s going home. She grabs Boyd and follows him out of the party, _away_. He wishes they wouldn’t follow, but hey, he’s the DD. 

“So,” Erica says when the three of them are in the car, “care to explain what that was?”

“He’s an idiot. He almost let slip something that he shouldn’t have. I stopped him. Not the best way, I know, but it was the only think I could think of. Sue me.” Derek pulls out of his spot a little quickly, and hits the stop at the end of the street a little hard. Anger is always a good way of dealing with problems. Always.

“You’re upset. Are you okay to drive?”

He snorts. “I’m fucking _fine_.” His hands flex on the wheel and he breathes a little too roughly. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks, but the way it comes out, it sounds like he’s losing it. He needs to _get his shit together_. He can’t freak out. This is bad, really bad. Shit, he can’t—

Erica touches his arm firmly, saying, “Pull over.” 

He does, if only because he wants to give in. 

She turns in her seat to face him. “Alright. Spill. What’s going on? Why are you so— so— _whatever_ about what happened? You helped a dude out. With your mouth, okay, that’s weird, and he got kind of pissed off about it, but there’s no reason for all of—“ she gestures at his general person “— _this_.”

Derek just laughs. It’s a high, strained noise, and he can’t stop. It’s all just fucking _hilarious_ , isn’t it? That he’s having some sort of breakdown over _Stiles_ , fucking _Stiles_.

“Jesus Christ, Boyd, what the hell is going on with him?” he hears Erica ask. 

“Maybe this is a good time to tell you that Stiles is the freshman I told you about.”

“Wait, _Stiles_? Derek, you want to fuck _Stiles_? Well, fuck.” There’s a soft _whap_ as Erica smacks Boyd. “ _Why didn’t you tell me it was Stiles? Why am I the last to find these things out?_ ” Then she smacks Derek on the arm. “You are a stupid stupidhead! This was bad and you should feel bad!” 

Derek makes a sound that’s a little like a whine and falls forward, head hitting the steering column. The horn blares and he jerks, moves so his nose isn’t pressing against the button. Everything is horrible and just needs to stop. He’s a complete _idiot_ and he should have just covered Stiles’ mouth with his hand or something, but he let his stupid _feelings_ get in the way, so now, like always, everything is ruined. 

“Well. That’s a great way to solve this. Just go ahead and turn into a puddle of shame. Great thinking.”

He turns his head to glare at her, hitting the horn again, and winces. “I hate you,” he mumbles to the Chevrolet logo. 

Everything is terrible.

“You are such a _drama queen_ ,” she says with a little huff of anger. “Boyd. Tell him he’s a drama queen. This is nothing a little Ben and Jerry’s and a friendtervention can’t fix.” 

“You’re a bit of a drama queen,” Boyd says quietly. 

The worst part is, Boyd wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true. 

He’s being a drama queen. 

Fucking Stiles. He’s the root of the problem. If he weren’t so stupidly attractive and weird and hopeless as a human being, none of this would have happened. If he were just a normal person, then Derek wouldn’t have stupid feelings that come out of nowhere and he wouldn’t have done a stupid thing, so really, Stiles just needs to stop existing. As a person. Who’s not _perfect_ , not objectively, but his imperfections line up with Derek’s in a way that makes him feel warm inside when he thinks about them as a _them_.

Only it’s never going to happen because he did a stupid thing and now everything is fucked.

“I just really hate everything right now,” Derek says, sitting up. “I need to go home. I can drive. I’m fine.”

Erica snorts. “You’re going to go jerk off in a pool of your own tears if you go home, and as your best friend, I just can’t allow that. So you’re going to take us to a diner, we’re going to get some greasy midnight breakfast, and you’re going to tell us about your feelings. Sharing is caring. I would know; I took a class on talk therapy.” 

With the mother of all heartfelt sighs, Derek gets back on the road. Drives to their usual diner. Parks. Feels like a sad excuse for a functioning human being. 

But french toast sounds really good.

With bacon. Lots of bacon.

The three of them slide into a booth and Erica orders three coffees before the aging waitress even makes it to their table.

“So. Did you fuck your jailbait?”

Derek wants to smash his head on the table, but he manages to get out, “ _No. And his name. Is Stiles._ ”

“O _kay_. Well then. I assume you still want to.” 

He sets his chin in his hands and just looks at her. She’s not that dense. She’ll get it. And then he won’t have to say it. Hopefully.

“I think there’s a little more to it than that,” Boyd says, giving Derek a small apologetic look. Derek nods.

“ _What_ , then?”

He really doesn’t want to say because it’s awkward and he’s still not comfortable with it, so saying it out loud is just a really scary thing, but he covers his face with his hands and says, “I’m going to regret saying this, but I think I love him. So.”

“You think you _love_ him?” Erica asks, almost yelling, leaning over the table between them. Like it’s some horrible stretch of the imagination. 

Derek’s hands fall to the table, and he says, “Look, I know he’s a freshman, but he’s _good_ and _funny_. And he’s weird in this way that makes me feel like I wouldn’t mind being weird, too. No, he doesn’t walk on water and have a penis of legend, but he’s _Stiles_ , and that’s how I like him, so stop looking at me like you think he’s some sort of idiot. Well, he is, but not in a bad way. He’s an idiot and I love him, so if that makes me an idiot, well, too bad.”

There’s silence for a long, long moment.

Then, “Wow. I think I might have just shed a tear. Just the one, single tear of dignified emotion,” Erica says.

Boyd nods, saying, “Yeah, that was probably the sappiest thing I’ve ever heard, and I’ve seen all of the Nicholas Sparks movies. Really, that— _Wow_. You have got it _bad_.”

“It’s kind of cute, actually. Makes me a little proud,” Erica says, snuggling up against Boyd. “I mean, look at him. Our precious baby’s in love. I feel like I’ve been waiting for this moment since the day he was born.”

“Erica, I’m _older_ than you. And I’m not your ‘precious baby’. That’s creepy.”

“Okay, fine. Well, _that_ doesn’t change the fact that you just went chick flick on us _hard_. I mean, _hard_ ,” she says, wincing. “Like, I’m half expecting you to write a sonnet on a napkin or kiss him in the rain or something.”

Derek starts to get up. “You know what? I’m leaving. You asked, I answered, and you’re giving me shit for it. I don’t have to put up with this. Call a cab home.”

“No, Derek, stay!” she says, grabbing his arm. “Come on. We give you shit because we’re you’re friends and that’s our _job_. Now, please, tell us everything. I am eating this shit up.” She laces her fingers together and rests her chin on them. He sits back down. The waitress brings a pot of coffee by and fills their mugs. 

And Derek talks. 

He doesn’t wax poetic about Stiles’ smile, but he does talk. And as he does, his chest feels a little less tight, and he relaxes a little, and everything feels a little better. 

“So the problem is,” Erica says through a mouthful of hash browns, “you thought he might like you, which made you think that kissing was an acceptable silencing method, only then you freaked out because you thought we would judge you for robbing the cradle and now he’s pissed at you because he thinks that you think that he’s some stupid lush with a big mouth?” Derek nods, chewing his bacon. “Well. That’s cute. There’s a really easy solution to all of this.”

Derek swallows. “There is?”

“You know,” she says, pulling out her phone, “I could just text him.”

“Nope. No way. That’s weird and embarrassing on my end. I forbid you. I’m serious. Don’t do it,” Derek says. It’s not quite begging, but it’s the closest he’ll get for her.

“Fine. But I’m texting you his number. You better use it.” Derek grimaces. “ _No_ , I mean it. _Call him_. Tell him you want to adopt a bunch of adorable children with him and put Neil Patrick Harris and David Burtka to shame. Declarations of love go a long way. As long as you’re not too creepy.”

“You honestly think that’ll work? I just don’t want to mess this up. He’s the first thing in my life that I’ve really wanted that Laura hasn’t touched.”

The face Erica makes freezes his stomach.

“No. He doesn’t know Laura. There’s no possible way. _Don’t_ tell me he knows her.”

Erica shrugs, wincing a little. “He’s an Education major. He asked me if I knew any grads in his major so he could see what it looks like in the real world. What was I supposed to say? That I didn’t know someone who was getting their masters in Education Administration?”

“ _Yes_!” Derek yells, drawing a little more attention that he’d wanted from the only other diners. “ _That’s exactly what you were supposed to say_ ,” he hisses. 

“She didn’t know that Stiles was Jailbait,” Boyd says calmly. “There was no way she could have known it would be a bad thing. She was just trying to help him out.”

“I just gave him her email address! It’s no big deal!” Erica tells him.

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t you see? This is what she does. She’s probably been orchestrating everything from the beginning. When did you give him her email?”

“Like, the beginning of the year. But—“

“Whatever. It’s fine. It’s done. I’m done. I should have known. Oh well. It’s fine. I’m fine. There’s nothing that can be done.” He mostly says it to himself, and they’re both staring at him like they know.

“I’m sorry,” Erica says softly.

Derek shrugs. “Nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t know. It’s okay.”

 

It’s not okay. He listens to “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” and his downstairs neighbors probably hate him for belting it out so loud, but he has no regrets. Only hatred. For everything.

 

So Derek doesn’t really do so well. He pretends, at least. Goes through the motions. Talks to people. Does his work. 

Most of the time, he just feels like shit. 

One time, he sees Scott crossing campus, and he’d never admit it, but he enters the nearest building to wait for him to pass by before continuing on his way. It’s not the sort of encounter he ever wants to have. He’s avoiding Stiles (of course) and Allison, too, but he doesn’t run into them, so it’s fine. He’s not really interested in seeing Danny, either, just because he _knows_ that if they talk, the question beneath their conversation is going to be _Is he the reason?_ The only answer Derek has to that is _yes_. He’s not proud of that.

When Laura texts him he just responds with _You’re ruining my life_. 

It’s not overdramatic if it’s true. 

 

Erica texts him to meet her at Starbucks one day, and he shows up a little early, like he usually does, sits towards the back with a good view of the door so he can see her when she arrives. She’s habitually a few minutes late to everything, so he doesn’t expect her right on the dot. He’s eating a piece of poundcake and drinking a very Fall pumpkin spice latte, knowing that she’ll probably want to chat for at least half an hour, maybe more, and he’s thinking about getting out a book when he sees _him_ come in.

Stiles’ dark eyes flutter around the room. He frowns, checks his phone like he’s expecting someone. Slumps a little. Looks around again and that’s when his eyes land on Derek. His mouth settles in a tight line. That’s when Derek realizes that Erica’s not coming. She’s definitely not coming. Because she’s awful and doesn’t understand that _Derek doesn’t want to see Stiles ever again_. 

After Stiles gets his coffee, he ambles very casually over to where Derek is sitting. “Look, I know this is weird and I’m not going to bother you, I just have to ask: Are you waiting for Erica?”

Derek nods, says, “I’m pretty sure she set us up. You can leave.”

“If I leave, what are the chances that she’ll try this again?” Stiles ask because damn him, he’s _smart_. Or he at least knows Erica well enough. “Look, I know this is weird, but can we have this out so we don’t have to see each other again?” That hurts _way_ more than it should, but Derek pushes the seat across from him out. Stiles sits. 

Neither of them say anything for a while, and Derek doesn’t—can’t—look at him. 

“So, here’s the deal,” Stiles says out of nowhere, leaning on the table. “I think you’re kind of a complete asshole for leading me on like you did, and I’m still pissed off about it, so why don’t we both tell her it was a good talk and that we’re on good terms and then you don’t have to deal with me ever again. I’m tired of her nagging me about you, so let’s just be done. Okay?”

“I didn’t _lead you on_ ,” Derek spits out. “And you can give it up. I know Laura put you up to it and I’m over it. _I don’t care_. I’m done.”

Stiles looks angry and a little confused suddenly, and he says, “Wait, who the hell is Laura? And what did she put me up to?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Cute. But I know now, so you don’t have to pretend anymore.” 

“I’m serious right now, dude, you must be in some weird alternate reality because I do _not_ know who the hell this _Laura_ is. I don’t know what crack you’re smoking, but the only Laura I know of had a little house on the prairie, _so_.”

“Jesus Christ!” Derek says too loudly, smacking the table. “ _I know my sister convinced you to show up and be all_ —“ he waves a hand in the air at his general stupid Stiles-ness “—so you can just admit it. She’ll still pay you.”

Stiles gapes. “Wait, do you think I’m a _prostitute_? What the _fuck_?”

“What? _No_. She probably didn’t expect you to sleep with me. It’s more of an escort kind of thing, I’m sure.”

Stiles looks around like he’s checking to make sure the other people in the Starbucks haven’t turned into sea creatures or something. 

“ _Let me get this straight_ ,” Stiles says. “You think this Laura, your sister, _who I have never met_ , somehow _paid me_ to be your _escort_? Is that— Am I on Punk’d? Is Ashton Kutcher going to pop out of the men’s room?” He looks in that direction, then makes a weird face. “Wait, are _you_ on Punk’d? Because I have to say, this is Twilight Zone level of _what the fuckery_.”

Derek stares at him. “That’s a little extreme. I know you know her, so there’s no use denying it. Erica told me she gave you her email address. The jig is up.”

“Wait, _her_? _That_ Laura? I only emailed her, like, _once_. I just wanted to see if she thought it was necessary to get a master’s because if it is, I have to change majors because I can’t afford that much school. Like, at all. She replied and _that was all_. I have not been having some sort of super secret conspiring thing with your sister. Also, I think you need to consider that you might be a highly paranoid individual.” Derek…Derek doesn’t know what to do with any of this. If Stiles _isn’t_ Laura’s evil pawn, then _why_ do only bad things happen to him? Not that the pawn thing is a _good_ thing, but Stiles apparently thinks he’s _paranoid_ now, so everything’s messed up. 

“I’m not paranoid,” he says after a moment. “Since I was sixteen, my sister has somehow arranged more or less every date I’ve ever been on. School dances included. The first time, the girl broke down crying because she felt bad. The second time, my date let it slip on accident. I’ve learned to be suspicious ever since because that’s what she _does_. So no, I’m not paranoid, because she’s done this before. A _lot_.”

Apparently this is a really weird thing to say. 

“ _Seriously_? Why?” Stiles asks, making a face.

“Because…” He doesn’t want to tell this part because it’s embarrassing and his fault and it makes him not hate her so much.

“Because why?”

Derek looks at him, sighs, looks down at his hands. “When I was fifteen, this woman, a substitute teacher, made me think we were going to run away together or something, but, well, the Sheriff caught us this one time and told my parents and she went kind of crazy and tried to kill everyone. She didn’t. I mean, everyone was fine, but Laura got really upset that I’d kept a secret that big from her. We’d always been those scary-close twins, but I guess, well, I _know_ that she felt like she let me down somehow. So. That’s why.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything and Derek doesn’t look up and they just sit there for a lot longer than is at all comfortable. It’s really fucking awkward, actually, and Derek’s not sure why he said anything at all because he doesn’t tell _anyone_ that story. Erica doesn’t even know. She just thinks Laura’s a psycho. Or she did. Before they became partners in crime. 

So now Stiles, who doesn’t want to see him anymore, knows something that only one person outside of his family knows about because he’s _stupid_. 

Great. 

Really. His life is just a beautiful series of happy moments. 

“So, I just have to ask: was kissing me and making me look like a complete fool some sort of revenge against your sister?” Derek looks up, and Stiles looks right at him, not quite angry, but near it. “Because that was a really shitty thing to do. In case you weren’t aware.”

Derek shakes his head, looking down again. “That had nothing to do with Laura.”

“What, so you’re just an asshole for fun?”

“No!” Derek’s eyes jump to his, and after a second, he just shrugs. “It was a stupid thing to do. I shouldn’t have done it.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “What? Basically call me a drunk ass bitch in front of everyone I know and make me look like some sort of stupid child? Because that was _awful_ , you know. No one’s ever made me feel so completely _shitty_ before that. So thanks. Really. I’m glad to know what rock bottom feels like.” 

Derek’s hands are shaking, but he’s _terrified_ of what Stiles will say if he explains. That they’ve only met, like, five times and Derek can’t stop thinking about him, and when he watches Toddler and Tiaras, he always thinks _our kids will never do that_ , and when he thinks about his future, Stiles is never _not in it_.

“And you can’t just tell me really personal stuff and expect that everything will be fine! That’s fifty shades of not okay! It’s not fair at all. And speaking of not fair, how about _everything_ you’ve done? I didn’t _ask_ you to take me home in the first place! I don’t know how you could have possibly thought I was trying to get to you when _you_ were the one who insinuated yourself in _my_ life. You just kept popping up and doing things for me, and _that’s not okay_. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to make me think— _You just don’t get to do that_ , okay?” Stiles is panting a little by the end of all of this and Derek can’t breathe under the weight of how badly he’s fucked up. Stiles is so right, Derek had no right whatsoever. It’s not fair to impose himself on Stiles. 

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, and he’s never been more sure of a thing in his life. “I’m sorry, I’ll stay out of your way. I didn’t mean to do it. It just sort of…happened. None of it was on purpose. If it’s any consolation,” he says, shrugging one shoulder, “I hate me too.”

Stiles deflates. “Don’t say shit like that. I don’t _hate_ you, I just. I have a short list of about three people who are allowed to have some sort of affect on my emotional health, and you’re not on that list.” Derek can’t stop himself from wincing at that. “But you did it anyway. I don’t even know _how_. It’s scary, actually. Like, _really terrifying_. One minute, I’m having the time of my life, and the next, I’m getting harassed by some _jerk_.” 

Derek half-sighs in resignation. There’s no way Stiles is ever going to like him. It’s a lost cause.

“I just hate _everything_ about you,” Stiles says with an angry noise. “Except you have awesome taste in television and you basically said that I shouldn’t waste my love on Lydia Martin, an actual perfect human being, because I’m too much of my own person and you just — you _do stuff_. Like, _nice_ stuff. Only you make it look like you’re not being nice at all, which I don’t get because I was pretty sure you had a gooey marshmallow center beneath the your Look of Death until Lydia’s party, so I’m just really confused about who you are as an individual right now.” 

“What do you want me to say?” Derek asks in defeat.

“Did you kiss me just to make me look like an idiot? Was that all that was?”

“No.” Derek looks around, completely unable to look at Stiles whatsoever. “I did it because I wanted to.” Saying it makes him feel very small. 

Stiles glares, his mouth falling open a little. “Are you fucking _kidding_ me right now? You’re _ridiculous_. You don’t make any sense.”

“You’re young and I shouldn’t…” He frowns, not sure he can say that much out loud, and says, “It’s okay for me to want to sleep with you, but the rest, not so much.” 

“So the whole embarrassing-me thing,” Stiles says, looking like the most confused person in the world at the moment, “that was just you _freaking out_? Because you have _feelings_?” Derek nods in the least committal way possible. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m aware.”

“You need to do something about your communication skills.”

“I know.”

“Good. Because that’s something we’re going to work on. I’m not doing any of this again. Moping doesn’t suit me. I don’t have the face for it.” 

Derek stares at him. He’s piecing together the parts of that because he _thinks_ that Stiles is saying something, several somethings, but he’s not really sure. Because the implication is that they’re at least going to talk to each other again, which is kind of painful with how much it makes him happy, and then there’s the idea of Stiles moping because of something he did and he’s just not sure what to do with that.

“Do you want to go on a date with me?” he says at last, not sure if it’s the right thing to say, if that’s what Stiles means, but he has to try.

“ _Yes_. And you’re going to have to pay because I’m so very broke it’s not even funny and I blew through my budget for the week on this coffee.” He wiggles the empty cup in front of him, then thinks about something. “You know, you could just buy me another and we could call _this_ a date. We could talk about non-yelling types of things.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? That’s awkward because I _only_ talk about yelling things.” Stiles grins, sticks his tongue out. Derek wants to rub his face on Stiles’ face. It’s a stupid impulse, but he _wants_ to. Because he’s not quite sure, but he kind of thinks that maybe Stiles has saved his life by liking him. Possibly his future as well. 

“Go get me a Caramel Macchiato, double Caramel, and figure out who your favorite Avenger is. Have an argument prepared.” 

A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth, and he says, “Hawkeye,” as he gets up to order Stiles’ coffee. 

 

They’re there for over four hours. Stiles skips his afternoon class to stay and talk. Derek has things he’d planned to do, but blowing them off feels like nothing. 

The only reason they leave is because Stiles starts to get paranoid that the baristas are giving them hard looks, that they’re going to throw them out. It’s pretty late in the afternoon by that point, the sun fading, and standing there on the sidewalk, Derek _knows_ he’s in love. That it might be stupid, but that’s what it is, and Stiles might be weirder than anyone he’s imagined himself with before, but that only means he’s been imagining the wrong sort of person all along. 

“I don’t know if you’d even want to, but would you want to do dinner? Tonight, I mean,” Derek says. He feels too aware of his limbs.

Stiles grins, says, “ You know it,” even though it’s not something Derek knows at all yet, and, “Text me, Murder Eyes” because Erica had given them both the other’s number. 

Stiles stands there for a second, then lurches into a hug, his arms coming around in a firm loop around Derek’s waist. The solid weight of him is almost a shock, but the good kind, like winning the lottery or finding ice cream in the back of the freezer. His hair smells good, and Derek can smell his detergent, too, the soft scent of his skin, and he’s sure he won’t be able to smell Stiles without feeling all of his blood rush into his fingers and toes. Possibly other extremities. 

Stiles kisses him on the cheek when he pulls away, and he’s beautiful, maybe too beautiful to let walk away, but Derek watches him go, standing there like he’s been hit by a blast of wind. Stiles looks over his shoulder twice, grinning wider each time he sees Derek looking. It makes something warm and fragile swim in his stomach. 

He texts Erica a simple _Thanks_ as he heads to his car. 

 

Six weeks later, a Saturday, Derek wakes up alone. The other side of his bed is still sunken in, and when he touches it, it’s warm. He smiles. There’s plenty of light in the room because his blinds are shit, and the clock says it’s near noon. He turns over, thinking about sleeping some more, when he hears noise in the kitchen. The thought of food or coffee or some sort of nourishment makes him get out of bed, stop in the bathroom quickly to take a leak, and head into the other room to find Stiles. 

He’s humming a little, nodding his head in time to a beat, as he spoons grounds into the coffee maker. He’s wearing just a pair of boxers. Derek’s, not his own. When he turns around, he startles, a hand flying to his chest.

“Hold _God_ , can you please learn how to make noise? This stealth shit is going to land me in an early grave.” Derek shrugs, grinning a little because he does it on purpose, walking over to touch him because he can. To kiss him because it’s allowed. The soft give of his mouth is a comfort and a small victory every time, but he pulls away before either of them tries to use tongue. 

“I don’t think you want to know what my mouth tastes like,” he says against Stiles’ cheek, rubbing his nose back and forth over Stiles’ cheekbone. 

“I think I have a pretty good idea. I know where it’s been, after all. I’m minty fresh, however, but I’ll finish with the coffee while you go brush. I’ll even put in some toast. I’m in a giving mood this morning.” He winks, and Derek kisses his throat before heading to the bathroom. He brushes his teeth quickly, smiles to himself in the mirror. 

Stiles is just pushing down the lever on the toaster when he comes back. Derek comes up behind him, wraps his arms around him, hands stretching across the warmth of Stiles’ stomach. They stand there, cheek to cheek, for a moment. Stiles’ arms are warm over his own, and Derek can feel his smile against his face. It’s a warm feeling. And then their faces are turning towards each other, lips meeting. It’s familiar, the way Stiles kisses, always has been. In the weirdest way, too. He kisses the way Derek’s always imagined being kissed: eager, always eager, and with just the right amount of teeth. His mouth is warm and always tastes like him, even if he’s just eaten, and it’s always welcoming. Their tongues know how to fit against each other, and by now, he knows that if he runs just the tip of his tongue against the roof of Stiles’ mouth, he’ll laugh and smile against him. 

The toast pops up, but they ignore it.

After a little while, Stiles twists around in his arms so their chests are pressed together. Stiles’ fingers rub warm circles around his spine, heading gradually lower and lower. Derek nips at his lower lip, lifts him by the thighs up onto the counter. His legs spread easily, comfortable, and the outline of his dick is visible. 

The thing about Stiles is that he always gets hard easy, and sometimes, Derek thinks it might be a contagious sort of thing. Because he used to require at least a little something to get into it, but with Stiles, he’ll be sitting on the couch, watching him stretch or something, and he’ll feel himself stiffening without warning. It hasn’t been like this in years is the thing. He’s not sure what to do with it, except for the obvious, which is to have lots of sex all the time. Which they do. A _lot_ , actually. Stiles talks about it sometimes, when he’s full of Derek’s fingers or when he’s just gotten all the way in and he doesn’t want to come at first. He talk about Scott and how he’s always felt like he and Allison are ridiculous for having sex so much, only now he thinks that he and Derek might have _more_ sex, which isn’t something to shake a stick at. 

The other thing about Stiles is that for some reason, Derek really likes to blow him. It had taken them almost two weeks to get to the point where they could think past rutting against each other and jacking each other off in the midst of sloppy kisses. Neither of them had actually been with a dude before, or not in a sexual way, so they’d watched a lot of porn. Sex had, like any noble pursuit, required a lot of practice and some awkward moments. There’d been some toothy blowjobs and the first time Stiles had tried to finger Derek, he’d come almost right away and they’d stared at each other until they started laughing. It’s not always the best, hottest, most porn-worthy sex in the world, but that’s alright; Stiles once found a sheet of stickers that said “GREAT EFFORT!” and he’d stuck them all over Derek while he was naked, saying that they try hard enough that they should be rewarded.

Derek never minded having to work on the art of the blowjob. Actually, the first time he’d ever seen Stiles’ dick, his mouth had literally watered. There may have been a bit of drool that he won’t ever admit to. It wasn’t even the penis thing, really. Just the fact that this was a part of Stiles that made him very happy, and Derek really likes that particular property. And it’s a nice dick, in his utterly non-biased opinion. A little thicker just near the head, and it’s not a chode or anything. There’s a vein curving around from the base that Derek likes putting his mouth on because there’s something intimate about feeling Stiles’ pulse against his tongue. 

When Derek pulls Stiles’ borrowed boxers down enough to free his dick, Stiles makes a little noise, almost like a sigh. He hasn’t showered since last night, so at first lick, he tastes a little like latex, but Derek laps at the head, teasing a drop or two of precome, and looks up. Stiles always stares at him during blowjobs, regardless of who’s going down on who. When he’s on the receiving end, his mouth never closes, and his dark eyes just _watch_. The first time, Derek had thought he was supposed to be sexy or something under a gaze like that, but that’s just how Stiles has sex  — watching everything, taking everything in. He does it now, Derek has found, because he likes how Derek’s mouth looks around his dick. It’s something he plays with. Taking him in suddenly, almost smiling around him, shutting his eyes because he can feel the way Stiles’ thighs clench under his hands—

There’s a knock at the door.

“Shit, someone’s here, Derek,” Stiles says, soft and breathy because Derek’s just about all the way down. One of his hands tugs at Derek’s hair, trying to pull him up.

Derek rises off of him. “If it’s important, they’ll be there in a few minutes,” he says, then sinks back down, bobs. Stiles groans. There’s a loud _thump_ as his head hits one of the upper cabinets. One of his hands runs across Derek’s naked shoulder, his other kneading Derek’s scalp. 

There’s a series of knocks, louder. 

Derek’s jaw aches a little as he opens his mouth wide enough to twist his tongue around the hot length in his mouth. 

“What if it’s important?” Stiles says, breath hitching. “What if it’s Erica?”

Derek rolls his eyes. Erica knows better, and she wouldn’t blame them for sex. He comes up, almost all the way off, runs his tongue across the slit of Stiles’ cock. He’s aching a little in his own boxers, but there’s no urgency to it. Stiles is his priority at the moment.

There’s more knocking, and this time, he hears a voice yell his name.

Derek stiffens. Stiles pops free of his mouth as it goes slack. _He recognizes that voice_. 

“Well, shit,” he says, standing up all the way. He glances down at his boxers, feeling his dick wilting.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asks. His eyes are almost black, and he looks torn. 

Derek rubs his face. “ _That’s my sister_.”

“Holy fuck,” Stiles says, gaping. “Jesus, go answer, then. Shit.” 

Derek winces, swears, and heads to the door. He’s going to _kill_ Laura. He’s going to murder her. Only if he tells her that she’s a horrible person for interrupting him in the middle of giving head, she’s never going to let him live it down. Shit. She’s awful, she’s terrible, she’s—

Glaring at him as he opens the door.

“Jesus Christ, Derek. I know it’s a weekend, but it’s after _noon_. You should be up by now. I can’t believe you’re still sleeping this late.” She pushes past him inside before he can grab her.

“What are you doing here?” he yells as she heads down the hallway. 

“It’s almost Thanksgiving. I’m on break. You’re coming home, right? I mean, you’ve—“ 

And _that_ ’s the moment she gets to the kitchen.

“Well, _hello_ there.” She stands there, looking at Stiles, who, fucking goddammit, is still only wearing boxers. She looks at Derek. “Is this why you haven’t been returning my calls?” Derek nods. “Wow. Remind me to punch Erica in the ovaries. She was _supposed_ to tell me if you ever start seeing someone. I assume this is actually a romantic thing. You don’t do friends with benefits, do you?”

“Nope. This is Stiles. We’re together,” Derek says with conviction. In his periphery, he notices Stiles give a little wave.

Laura shrugs, says, “Good to know. Got any coffee? Smells like it.”

“How do you take it?” Stiles asks, and she tells him. Derek stares, wondering how, of all things, this, something he would have feared had he been more creative, is actually looking alright. Laura’s hopping up onto a bar stool at the breakfast bar, rubbing her eyes.

“You know, I drove _hours_ to get here. And you don’t even have breakfast? That’s sad, Derek. I’m disappointed.”

Derek smirks, leaning against the counter. “We were busy.”

She looks at him, eyes narrowed, for a moment. Frowns. Then her eyes widen.

“Oh my God. You were totally having sex, weren’t you? In the _middle of the day_. Who _are_ you? What did you do with my Forever Alone brother?”

Derek grins, even as Stiles turns bright red. Her shock is one of the most glorious things he’s ever seen.

“I think Mom will like him,” he says, turning to Stiles. “If that’s okay. We haven’t talked about Thanksgiving.”

“Oh, shit. I don’t know. I told my dad I’d drive home.” He can see in Stiles’ face that he wants to, but he won’t. If there’s anything he’s learned about Stiles, it’s that his dad comes first. It’s a hard line Derek has no interest in crossing. “I can’t do Christmas, either, but New Years?” 

“Ooh, you should definitely come up for New Years,” Laura says. “We always set off fireworks because we live out of the way. It’s great.”

“Is that…safe?” Stiles asks, rubbing the back of his neck.

Laura shrugs. “Derek almost started a forest fire once, but that was years ago—“ 

“We don’t do the big ones anymore,” Derek assures him.

Stiles grins weakly. “That sounds like fun. As long as it’s safe. I might not live by the law sometimes, but, hey, _Sheriff’s son_. Something’s gotta rub off on me.”

“Oh my _God_ , Derek, you’re banging the Sheriff’s son? Are you actually trying to get _arrested_? Is this some sort of masochistic thing?”

Derek rolls his eyes, says, “No, that’s not—“

“My dad isn’t going to _arrest_ him,” Stiles says. “At least I don’t think. There’s a chance he’ll greet you with a shot gun. But that’s just because he thinks he’s funny. He’s like the dad from Twilight. He’s harmless. He’s comic relief. Although it might help if you tell him we’re waiting until marriage.” 

Laura’s grinning and Derek’s a little worried, actually. He’s never really had to do the _meet the parents_ thing. So that’s new. But it should be fine. Stiles loves his dad, therefore, he must be a more than decent guy. And if he doesn’t like Derek, it’s probably just protective instincts. Nothing wrong with that. Derek’s older and he looks older than he is. He knows that. It’ll be fine. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen Derek this terrified since I got accepted to his dream school the day after he did.” She looks like pure evil because she is and hopefully Stiles is seeing that. Hopefully he’ll understand.

“I swear, the rest of my family is mostly normal,” he tells Stiles. “She’s the bad seed. The rest of us are fine. Really normal.”

“That’s not true. Mom and Peter have my sense of humor. It’s not our fault you’re Downer Derek.” Really? She’s going to go there? That’s low.

Stiles says, “Downer Derek? That’s weird. You’re kind of the opposite of a downer.” It’s not sarcastic is the thing. That’s who he is with Stiles. He likes to smile because it makes Stiles smile and he likes to laugh because it makes Stiles laugh and there’s no reason to _not_ be happy. They bicker about silly things sometimes, but it’s fun and he knows it’s because there’s love there. 

(They haven’t technically traded real _I love you_ ’s yet. There’ve been a couple during sex, mostly because Derek thinks he can get away with it then, but he’s trying not to put any pressure on him about it. They’re comfortable as they are.)

“You know what? I’m cool with this,” Laura says, gesturing at them. “I mean, you look kind of young, but I bet you look older in clothes. Besides. If you don’t know Downer Derek, then maybe you’ve got a good thing. And I’m only half not talking about your penis.” Stiles turns red and flails a little, and Laura grins. Because she’s evil. 

“You’re going to milk this, aren’t you?” he asks her.

She nods emphatically, says, “Who would I be if I didn’t? Now you and your young man need to get dressed because I am _starving_. And don’t tell me there are millions of real starving children, either, because I would _eat_ them, do you understand? I’m reaching cannibalism levels of hungry. If we were on an island, you two would be cage fighting to see which of you becomes bacon. You have five minutes before I start gnawing on your limbs. Go.” 

Derek rolls his eyes as Stiles tries to usher him to the bedroom. He believes her, and maybe he should. 

That doesn’t mean he can’t laugh a little as they shut the door behind them, can’t lean in for a quick kiss on the way to the dresser. Their elbows end up knocking together when they both go for the same drawer, and they’re not perfect, not quite, but they’re pretty damn close.

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who's reading my zombie apocalypse fic, I WILL finish it. I just got distracted and had to write. It kind of got away from me.  
> By the way, if anyone wants to write a fic but can't come up with any ideas, HIT ME UP. Because I have too many to write.  
> Also I may or may not be possibly writing a Twilight AU. Only, like, half as terrible as that sounds. I swear.


End file.
